


Redemption

by CFVici



Category: seaQuest
Genre: Action, Canon, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, S-2 cast, Sci-Fi, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 57
Words: 91,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CFVici/pseuds/CFVici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately following "Dagger Redux" and overlapping "The Siamese Dream". Tim turned his back on seaQuest and then he betrayed all his friends. That's not easily forgotten, even if those friends don't hold it against you. Forgiveness is free. Redemption must be earned. *COMPLETE*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            Lt. J.G. Timothy O’Neill drew a deep breath before rapping twice on the ward room hatch. Dr. Wendy Smith had waited until his physical pain had subsided before recommending he come see her ‘just to chat’, she said. But Tim knew this wasn’t going to be some friendly exchange of crew gossip or even a casual check on his health. If she’d intended to give him a physical, she’d have asked him to see her in Medbay. Dr. Smith was more than just the head physician aboard _seaQuest_. She was also a psychologist and counselor.

            Although generally uncomfortable with shrinks, Tim hadn’t had much luck with his previous confidante: Darwin, the dolphin. No doubt, Capt. Bridger had relayed to Smith all the reasons Tim had given for attempting to resign. He hadn’t been secretive about it with any of his friends either. If any of them had given his forced shore leave any thought, it wouldn’t have been hard for a skilled telepath like Dr. Smith to pick up their surface thoughts. He’d pretty much burned all his bridges by announcing his personal insecurities before running away to reinvent himself.

            There was no point to denying his feelings and truthfully, he found himself relieved that he didn’t have to any more. Everything was already out in the open and maybe Dr. Smith could help him. It certainly couldn’t be any less successful than his own floundering attempts.

            “Come in,” her soft voice beckoned.

            Tim rotated the wheel and pushed the steel door open. He pushed his glasses toward the top of his nose and swallowed. “Am I late?”

            Dr. Smith stood and extended her hand in a welcome gesture. “Not at all. I’m glad you decided to come.”

            Tim shrugged and forced a nervous smile. “I figured if anyone can help me, you can.”

            Dr. Smith silently directed him to a comfortable chair. He waited for her to find a seat of her own, then sat as she did. When he looked up again, her brows were raised. “Really? Then why didn’t you come to me _before_ you tried to resign?”

            He looked away. “Because it’s embarrassing. Because I didn’t want to look any stupider than I already felt.”

            “Tim, this session isn’t going on your record. If it makes you feel uncomfortable to talk to me as a counselor, then just talk to me as a friend.”

            And here he’d thought he was being so cool. “Is my discomfort that obvious?”

            “I wasn’t scanning you.”

            He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wasn’t accusing you, Doctor.”

            “How about ‘Wendy’?”

            “W-Wendy.”

            “Why won’t you look at me?”

            He sighed. Just a moment ago, he’d thought the hard part was over and he wouldn’t have any trouble talking about this. It had been easier with the captain. He’d just rehearsed his reasons fifty times and then recited them calmly, answering his expected questions with more rehearsed answers. Bridger only caught him off guard when he brought up his spelling error on the resignation. _Why did I do this to myself?_

            He forced himself to face her, but he stared at her clavicle rather than look her in the eyes. “I’m not sure I belong on _seaQuest._ ”

            “I overheard you tell the captain that you were glad to be back. Have you changed your mind?”

            “No. I think I proved to myself that I’m worthless as a painter and I’m more awkward with beautiful women in bikinis than with beautiful women in _seaQuest_ jumpsuits.”

            She smiled. “I think that was a compliment.”

            He nodded quickly, but hurried on. “It isn’t that I don’t _want_ to be here. I realize now that I fit in better here than anywhere else. I just can’t help feeling I don’t _deserve_ to be here.”

            “The captain never accepted your resignation. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

            “That was before. But I betrayed him… and you… and everyone aboard. I gave Mariah the codes to blow _seaQuest_ out of the water.”

            “And Mariah didn’t first immobilize you with a Zapper, kidnap you against your will, and then torture you?”

            Tim sat silent. Torture was no excuse. Neither Ford nor Brody would have caved to torture. Even Piccolo would have lasted longer than he did.

            “Did you know I felt that first energy pulse she sent through you? That Zapper knocked me nearly unconscious. I couldn’t get up without help.”

            Tim’s jaw dropped. No, he hadn’t known. He’d pulled her down like a drowning man standing atop his rescuer. “I’m sorry.”

            “You didn’t do anything wrong. I think you may have latent psychic abilities, or I never could have connected with you so well.”

            “I’ve only ever connected with Darwin before.”

            “Darwin? Why haven’t you ever mentioned this?”

            He shrugged. “I figured it was Darwin, not me.”

            “For all we know, _all_ dolphins are psychic, but there’s got to be a reason he connected with _you_.”

            “Oh, it wasn’t just me. Well, when he was sick, it was just me and the captain. But lots of the crew shared a dream about him.”

            “I think we should explore this more, but not right now. Let’s get back to Mariah. When you were Zapped, I felt great pain and I knew it had something to do with you.”

            He scoffed lightly. “Great. I have psychic ability that’s only purpose is to hurt innocent people by projecting my pain.” He felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

            “ _You_ didn’t hurt me, Tim. Mariah did. By what she did to you.”

            He pushed his glasses up even though they hadn’t moved since the last time he adjusted them. “But it was all my fault. I fell for her act—hook, line, and _sinker_.” He winced inwardly at the last word. It was only Mariah’s inexperience and Cmdr. Ford’s tactical skill that had kept _seaQuest_ from sinking quite literally.

            Wendy leaned forward. “So now you’re beating yourself up for being human?”

            The compassion in her voice forced him to look up at her eyes again. He waggled his head in a shake that became a nod, then looked away again.

            “Tim—”

            _No!_ She wasn’t going to sweet-talk her way out of this one. He balled his fists and pounded them on the arms of his chair. “Don’t you get it? None of the other officers would have betrayed _seaQuest_. They’d have died before they gave any enemy the stealth codes. If that makes them super-human and me just merely human, then doesn’t it follow logically that I feel inadequate here?”

            The doctor chuckled. “So you think Miguel could have absorbed six thousand _mendels_ of genome-wave-energy without any ill effects?”

            “Genome-wave-energy?”

            “The Zapper was stolen when Mariah escaped. It uses an advanced type of DNA-disruption energy developed to control GELFs in maximum security. By the look of your bio-readings, I suspect she used the same kind of energy in that electrocution chair. Tim, not even Dagwood could have resisted it.”

            Could it be true? Was it possible he’d really been as strong as anyone could have been? Or was this just an easy way to mollify him? He stared at her, incredulous.

            “I wouldn’t lie to you, Tim.”

            He sighed softly. “It doesn’t change what I did. How can I show my face here when everyone knows I betrayed them?”

            Dr. Smith was quiet for a moment. “Is this about what _they_ think, or what _you_ think?”

            “W-well, both.” He shrugged. “I guess.” He wasn’t even sure anymore.

            “I can assure you that no one felt anything but relief when you came back aboard.”

            Sarcasm filled his voice as he smirked. “Right. You scanned everyone against their will.” He knew Wendy would never do such a thing. That was the point. She couldn’t know how everyone else felt.

            “I didn’t have to _scan_ anyone. The relief was so palpable I couldn’t block it if I wanted to. Is it so hard to believe that people care about you?”

            His mouth opened, but no words escaped. He nodded some more.

            “Then this really _is_ about your perception of yourself, isn’t it?”

            “That’s what I told the captain.”

            Her voice lowered. “Yes, you did.”

            She sighed softly and he couldn’t help but feel she was exasperated or at least impatient with him. “You’re more honest than most people, Tim.”

            He chuckled nervously. “Is there any point in trying to deceive you?”

            She wrinkled her nose. It was cute in a kid-sister kind of way. “You mean because I’m psychic?”

            Tim adjusted his glasses again. “Yeah, there’s that too. But why subject myself to all this if I didn’t hope you could help me?” It seemed absurd that hiding the problem would be productive. He almost asked if she actually _could_ help him, but decided against it. He wasn’t ready to hear it if she couldn’t.

            “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You wouldn’t believe how much mental energy most people devote to erecting façades. I can’t tell _what_ they’re hiding unless I scan them, but I can tell that the vast majority of people are hiding _something_.”

            “Maybe I just don’t have any secrets worth hiding.”

            She shook her head and her eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t belittle yourself like that.” There was no doubt from her tone that she was scolding him now. “I’ve had too many people lie to me to take honesty for granted and I don’t pay compliments lightly.”

            His gaze dropped to the floor. He gulped. “You’re right. Sorry.”

            He didn’t look up to see her face, but her voice returned to its gentle softness. “Let’s go back to this betrayal. What do you remember about it?”

            He swallowed and shook his head. “I think I hate myself so much that I’ve blocked it from memory. I remember the pain and I remember not being able to breathe. My jaw still hurts from all the clenching, but I don’t remember telling her the codes.” He picked at an imaginary speck of dust on his shirt. Would he ever be able to get past the horror of his own weakness?

            “How do you know you did, then?”

            “Mariah told me I gave them to her, and right after that, she started the attack.” _And I begged her not to_. It hurt so much to think about what could have happened.

            “Is it possible you gave her false codes?”

            He shook his head. “I can’t pull off a bluff. You know that.”

            “Yes, _I_ know it and _you_ know it, but Mariah wouldn’t have known it. And she’s a GELF, so she has very little experience with human behavior. You’re smart enough to have realized this.”

            Tim shifted positions in his chair. “I don’t think I had the presence of mind to think rationally. My spinal column was on fire and my head was about to explode. All I wanted was to die as quickly as possible.”

            Wendy’s voice crept to a whisper. “But she wouldn’t let you die, would she?”

            He shook his head without comment. He could feel the tears behind his eyes and a frog filling up his throat.

            “It’s okay, Tim.”

            He couldn’t keep his voice from faltering with emotion. “Easy for you to say.”

            “No. No, it’s not easy at all. I felt that weapon, remember? I only felt it once before I blocked it, so I could function here. I know _I_ would have said anything to make the torture stop.”

            “Why wouldn’t she just kill me?”

            Wendy crossed the room and crouched by his chair, facing him, but at his side. She placed her hand over his on the chair arm. “Because you were nothing more than a tool to her.”

            He drew a breath, trying to hide a sniffle, but failed. “I deserved to die.”

            Silence reigned for a long time. He wasn’t sure if she was just giving him time to collect himself or if she had no argument against what he’d said. His self-pronouncement hung in the silence, echoing and reverberating in his mind.

            After what seemed an eternity, Wendy broke the silence. “You’re Catholic, aren’t you, Tim?”

            Not trusting his voice, he nodded without looking up.

            “I don’t think I can help you until you see a priest.”

            “A p-priest?”

            “Yes. Go to confession. Get your guilt absolved. Isn’t that what priests do?”

            Guilt. _Of course_. It was so obvious he wanted to bang his head against the wall. But he already had a major headache and wasn’t keen on increasing his pain. He felt so stupid for having made such a scene, stupid for having come at all. He pulled his hand from under hers and stood, backing away from her sideways. “Yes. A priest. You’re right. I’ll do that. Thank you, Doctor.”

            She held the crouched position by his chair but made no motion to stop him. “It’s still ‘Wendy’. You need to see your priest first, but after that, will you come back? Please?”

            The pleading in her voice clinched it. He couldn’t let a pretty woman beg. “If you want me to, I’ll come back.” She reached for him and clasped his hand. Tim expected a brief squeeze and then he’d be free to run.

            But she held on and pulled herself to stand. Then she grabbed both his shoulders, forcing him to face her. “I want you to.”

            Tim only looked in her eyes for a second, but regretted doing it. Somehow, he couldn’t escape the fact that she cared, and not just because he was a “valuable crew member”, either. The concern in her voice and the pleading in her eyes would make it impossible to make excuses later. No matter how uncomfortable he’d feel, he’d endure more sessions because she’d asked him to.

            But right now, he _had_ to escape—fast. Moments later, he was in his quarters with his back against the door, his glasses in his hands, mopping his brow with his sleeve and panting heavily. He couldn’t remember whether he’d trampled anyone on the way.


	2. Chapter 2

            Wendy planned to keep a keen eye on O’Neill after that night. The next morning, he dropped by Medbay.

            “I called my priest.” His voice stopped there, but his mind screamed, _“as you ordered, Doctor.”_

            Since it was important enough that she would have used her authority to order it had he balked, she tried to ignore what he didn’t say aloud. “That’s great, Tim. How are you—” She saw his frown and shaking head. “What’s wrong?”

            “He wouldn’t absolve me.”

            Wendy wasn’t Catholic, but she’d never heard of a priest refusing absolution. It was pretty obvious by Tim’s body language that he’d inferred his sin must be unforgivable. Wendy tried desperately to guess why. “Does he need to see you in person?”

            “No. I confess by vid-link all the time.”

            Ten minutes in confession was usually more effective in dealing with a patient’s guilt than 30 hours of counseling. That was why she’d suggested it. Seeing Tim suffering emotionally was even more painful than the genome-wave-energy weapons she’d felt sympathetically. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find another priest, Tim.”

            He shook his head and placed a crumpled piece of paper on her desk. “Father Baker said you should contact him.”

            “Me? Did he say why?”

            Tim shrugged and moved toward the hatch. He squared his shoulders and schooled his facial expression to what most non-telepaths would accept as neutral.

            He’d already stepped over the hatch opening when she called after him. “I’ll call him right now.”

            He paused and nodded. She felt some of his gloom lift. “Thank you, Doctor.”

            The hatch hissed as the seal formed and she whispered to emptiness, “ _Wendy._ ”

            She only let a second pass before she snatched up the paper and hurried to sit at the vid-link station. After punching in all the required digits, she stared at the note while the connections were made. She hadn’t cleared Tim for duty yet (medical being the official reason), but whoever manned communications would recognize the call came from Medbay and therefore warranted top priority. Even if no one on the bridge were paying attention, it would be routed automatically unless the captain had ordered some kind of tactical silence.

            She tried to control her anger toward this uppity priest who refused a penitent man forgiveness. _Hear him out first_ , she scolded herself. The paper caught her eye again and she realized it hadn’t merely been rumpled a little to travel in the lieutenant’s pocket. It had been wadded into a ball and probably…

            “Hello?” A middle-aged man in a Hawaiian print shirt smiled back from the screen. The text display revealed the call’s location as Pearl Harbor.

            “Hello. This is Dr. Wendy Smith on the _seaQuest_. I’m looking for Father Stanley Baker.”

            “That’s me.” The man actually winked and his smile grew bigger.

            “Oh, I didn’t…”

            He waved away her apology. “Not a problem.” He pulled at his shirt near the breast pocket. “Can’t seem to find this print in a collarino.” He chuckled at himself.

            Wendy opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.

            “You’re calling about Timothy O’Neill, right?”

            “Yes, he said you wanted to speak with me. Frankly, Father, I cannot comprehend why you won’t—”

            “Whoa, ma’am. I want this cleared up just as much as you do. Timothy is like a son to me. I gave him 24 hours to give you the message, but I would have called you myself if he chickened out.”

            “He’s not a coward,” Wendy said guardedly. She didn’t sense any overt deception on his part, but ‘like a son’ wasn’t always a good thing.

            The priest nodded and traded the smile for a serious expression. “No, he’s not, and I’m glad to hear you realize it. He respects you tremendously. So let’s get straight to the point. While I can absolve forgotten sins committed many years before confession or perhaps under the influence of alcohol or drugs, I don’t believe this is the case with Timothy.”

            Wendy shook her head. “He wasn’t on duty when it happened, but if he’d had any alcohol in his system at all, it would have been purged by the adrenaline his body produced to combat the torture.”

            “Yes, he mentioned he’d been Zapped with some kind of experimental energy weapon or something.”

            _Yeah, or something_. Was he going to sneer at the pain Tim had suffered? Because if he was, she was going to give him a piece of her mind and probably an even bigger piece of her voice. But not yet. He was being courteous and she would hear him out before she jumped his case. “It was genome-wave-energy, developed for use on criminal GELFs.”

            “Sounds serious.”

            “It is. His captor showed no mercy. We’re lucky he survived.”

            “Indeed. Can I ask you, Doctor…does this genome-wave-energy affect memory?”

            “I don’t know that much about it; no one really does. None of the GELFs it has been used on have evidenced memory damage.”

            “And humans?”

            “Lt. O’Neill is the only human it has ever been used on and I highly doubt you’d find anyone to volunteer for testing.”

            He nodded. “I see. So it’s possible that this experimental weapon is responsible for the memory loss.”

            “Forgive me, Father, I don’t understand all your beliefs, but Lt. O’Neill is deeply aggrieved by his perceived betrayal and the guilt is eating him up inside.” _Now what are_ you _going to do about it?_

            “ _Perceived_ betrayal, Doctor?”

            “The _seaQuest_ is still here and we suffered relatively few injuries in the attack. But even had we sustained more damage, no one would blame the lieutenant for breaking under such extreme conditions.”

            “No one but Timothy.”

            Wendy sighed dejectedly. “Yes.”

            “Please believe I had Timothy’s welfare in mind when I proceeded with this odd course of action, Doctor.”

            She gave him the smallest nod she could manage.

            “I don’t want to offer Timothy absolution unless we at least _try_ to get him to remember exactly what he did.”

            “Do you know how painful that would be for him? The circumstantial evidence alone grieves him terribly.” She wanted to tell him about Tim’s self-loathing, but she was already dangerously close to violating his patient confidentiality.

            The man set his jaw and his voice hardened. “I am fully aware, Doctor, and that’s precisely the point. If I give him blanket absolution, then he will always assume his ‘true’ sin was greater than what he could remember and thus what I absolved him of.”

            Finally, understanding dawned. “He’d never feel fully forgiven.”

            The clergyman sighed and nodded. “Yes. I fear he’d carry unnecessary guilt for the rest of his life. We’ll have to consult Timothy, of course, but can you hypnotize him with me present?”

            _Hypnosis! Yes!_ She could help him control all the shock his mind was protecting him from. “As long as Lt. O’Neill agrees, then absolutely. Should I call him now?”

            The man chuckled. “Bless you for seeing the urgency, Doctor. But I do believe with all of Timothy’s communications experience, he’d feel more comfortable if we didn’t broadcast this, even on a secure channel.”

            Her respect for this priest growing, Wendy nodded. “I can arrange medical leave for both of us immediately. Where should we meet you?”

            “You’re quite welcome to come here, but as a navy chaplain, I think they’d allow me fly out to you. My computer shows _seaQuest_ is on inactive status, under repairs in the South Pacific. I hope that means you’re on the surface. My SCUBA certification has expired.”

            She chuckled. Crew had been placing calls and going on regular shore leave in Auckland while they did repairs. They spent almost as much time above the water as below and even when they were under for test runs, they didn’t go very far or very deep. “Ordinarily, you could take a shuttle, but Launch Bay is one of the areas under repair. I’ll make a personal request to the captain for surfacing so Lt. O’Neill won’t feel he’s putting anyone out.”

            “And your captain will do that for you?”

            She nodded emphatically. “For me. Or for the lieutenant. Either way.”

            “Great! You talk to Timothy and be sure it’s okay with him, and I’ll find out when I can catch a lift.” His smile radiated on the screen for a moment after the connection severed.

            She stood and straightened her shirt. Whom to speak to first? She knew both men well enough that neither of their answers were really a concern. It was mere courtesy to ask. But of the two, she was slightly more sure of Tim than Nathan, so it was the captain she would ask first. She pressed her intercom button. “Smith to Capt. Bridger.”

            “Go ahead,” came the captain’s commanding intonation.

            “May I see you in Medbay at your convenience?”

            There was a short pause. “Ten minutes all right, Doctor?”

            “See you then.” She considered talking to Tim in the meanwhile, but her sway would be slightly greater once the captain had made the concession to surface.

            Wendy used her computer to pull up Father Baker’s navy records. She skimmed over his bio just enough to be prepared for any concerns the captain might have. The only detail that caught her eye was the fact he spoke three languages. Not the amazing polyglot Tim was, but it probably gave them some common ground. His photograph looked recent, with the same smile she’d seen on her vid-link, but he wore a standard naval officer’s uniform with chaplain’s insignia instead of the casual Hawaiian print.

            She left the information on the screen and glanced at her schedule. _Free for lunch_. She smiled. Good information to have.

            The quiet creak of hinges made her look up. Capt. Nathan Bridger stood in the oval hatch opening, looking both scrupulously regulation and breathtakingly handsome at the same time. He stepped in, looking to see if there were any patients or other staff about. He’d temper his conversation according to whether they might be overheard. Medbay was deserted except for her.

            Wendy stood. “Thank you for coming, Captain.”

            He smiled warmly. “What can I do for you, Doctor?”

            “I need a favor.”

            “A favor, hmm? Well, I guess I owe you for saving my neck a few times.” He didn’t take her skills lightly and she knew it. It was just his way of keeping the tone light.

            “I’ve invited a chaplain from Pearl to _seaQuest_ and the rendezvous may require a non-scheduled surfacing.”

            “Don’t we have a chaplain onboard?”

            “Yes, sir, but this consultation is a little unorthodox and—”

            He held up a halting hand. “Is this for Mr. O’Neill?”

            It was no breach of confidentiality to affirm this. She’d berated the captain (a little too sternly, as she recalled) when he sent Tim on a 30-day leave without seeking her input first. He already knew she would pursue his case. Besides, she hadn’t gone into any personal detail concerning what the priest wanted. “Yes.”

            “Done.”

            “You didn’t even ask his name!”

            “For O’Neill, I’d take _seaQuest_ a thousand miles off course to bring Admiral Overbeck himself aboard.”

            This was really saying something for Nathan. He’d made no secret of his loathing of this particular superior, both personally and professionally. Wendy smiled and reached out to touch his shoulder. “I knew you would. His name is Father Stanley Baker and he’s making arrangements already.”

            The captain rolled his eyes and threw his hands up melodramatically. “Does anyone ever consult me _before_ plans are made?”

            She winked at him. “I haven’t asked O’Neill yet. Does that count?”

            He quirked a brow. “Oh? How do you know he wouldn’t be more comfortable with the _seaQuest_ ’s chaplain then?”

            “Evidently, Tim prefers confession by vid-link. Father Baker is the one who requested my collaboration.” She handed him the crumpled paper.

            He studied it carefully. “And the lieutenant debated whether or not to tell you.”

            “Apparently.”

            “How _is_ he, Doctor?”

            “Physically, he’s fine. But emotionally, he’s in a great deal of pain.”

            “Understandable. I won’t pry. You have my full support, no matter how unorthodox.” He shook his finger at her. “I _don’t_ want to lose him.”

            Wendy tried not to think how attractive he was when he got possessive. “None of us do.”

            He looked around. “Anything else I can do while I’m down here?”

            “How are _you_ feeling, Nathan?” She realized she should have asked this sooner. With a severe concussion, he’d been the worst injured in the attack. She’d only cleared him for duty 16 hours ago.

            “My head still hurts like a bear, but not to the point of distraction.”

            “And repairs?”

            “Going smoothly. We should be top-notch in another week or so.”

            “Good. Then how about lunch?”

            He smiled broadly. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

            Tim sat in the deserted mess hall, staring at a full plate of food. He’d disassembled and reas­sembled his tofu sandwich three times, yet never changing its contents. Still not cleared for duty, he’d purposely come too early for lunch so he didn’t have to deal with any of the rest of the crew. They’d all slap his back and ruffle his hair and say, “Welcome back,” but he’d had enough of that in Medbay, where he couldn’t escape. The fact that everyone was so willing to forgive him just made him more miserable because he couldn’t forgive himself.

            He wondered what Father Baker wanted with Dr. Smith. He’d committed the unforgivable sin and was destined for excommunication and prob­ably hell too. And if that wasn’t bad enough, poor Wendy would be burdened with the impossible task of attempting to put psychological band-aids on his sorry excuse for a soul so he could function well enough to do his job.

            He wasn’t going to let that happen. He’d re­write his resignation (making sure to correct that stupid spelling error), seal it in an envelope, and stick it in the captain’s mail slot. No face-to-face. No waiting to see if his resignation was accepted. There were enough crew coming and going on shore leave that he could sneak out in the crowd. If the captain decided to declare him AWOL ra­ther than let him resign, then so be it. He deserved to be in military prison anyway.

            Idly, he catalogued how many ways he could say “loser” in the various languages he knew. _Too many_.

            Concluding that his lack of appetite had noth­ing to do with the time of day, Tim wrapped half his sandwich in a napkin and threw everything else away. He hurried toward the door and nearly ran straight into Capt. Bridger and Dr. Smith headed in.

            “Excuse me, Captain, Doctor,” Tim said, eye­ing the exit longingly. _Please don’t ask me to eat with you,_ he thought. He remembered Wendy’s ability and repeated his silent plea, this time con­centrating so she couldn’t miss it.

            “Mr. O’Neill. Glad to see you up and around,” Capt. Bridger said.

            Tim nodded. “You too.” Worried that an invi­tation was imminent, he cast a final pleading look at the doctor and took a step to the left so his es­cape route would be clear.

            “Lieutenant, I need to speak to you in Medbay in an hour,” Dr. Smith said.

            It was all Tim could do to keep from sighing with relief. “I’ll be there.” He was out the door and moving as quickly as he could without endan­gering anyone or drawing suspicion.

            Back in his quarters, he tried to call Father Baker again. He got a recorded message, which was odd during the priest’s regular office hours. The worst he’d ever experienced was to be put on hold for a few minutes.

            Tim debated himself. The _seaQuest_ was sub­merged and he’d still be aboard in an hour unless he stole a launch. Tendering his resignation a second time was one thing. He wouldn’t com­pound his sins by stealing an expensive submers­ible.

            So he would have to face the doctor. Since he had very little hope he could hide his intentions from her, he decided he’d just tell her his plans but invoke doctor-patient privilege in forcing her to keep it quiet. He expected an argument, but what could she possibly say? This was as much for her sake as his. It wasn’t right to saddle her with the hopeless wretch he’d become.


	4. Chapter 4

            Lunch with Nathan was pleasant, but Wendy couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling she’d had about Tim. He was so filled with despair that she couldn’t help perceiving what flowed out of his aura. She also had an inkling he was hiding something and that was odd after he’d been so open the night before. But perhaps even stranger, he’d projected a clear _message_ , with explicit _words_. Normal psychic impressions often trans­lated themselves in her mind to words, but she always instinctively perceived it as translation. This was much more direct, not like sensing the unspoken end to a sentence. He’d shouted in her mind!

            She couldn’t ask Tim’s permission to hypno­tize him in front of the captain, so the ap­pointment for after lunch was the best she could manage. Still, she felt badly that she hadn’t sum­moned the lieutenant immediately after her con­versation with Father Baker. It retrospect, who would be easier to persuade had been far less im­portant than who needed her encouragement.

            “You’re distracted,” Nathan said in his mat­ter-of-fact tone. They were both finished eating and other crew had started to filter in for lunch.

            She looked at him and chuckled. “And they say _I’m_ psychic.”

            “All right, if I’m so psychic, why couldn’t I figure out what to say to O’Neill?” He curled his fingers and thumbed at the direction of the door.

            “When did you have the chance? He ran out of here like we had the plague!” She had a much better idea why Tim really left, but she couldn’t tell the captain and humor was a good way to dif­fuse their anxiety.

            “Well, I hope your planned _unorthodoxy_ helps. I want my communications officer back once _seaQuest_ returns to active status.”

            _Caution, Captain_. “I think Father Baker will help, but I don’t want to set a timetable for getting Tim back to duty.”

            Nathan reached across the table and patted her hand. “Fair enough. As long as he’s in good hands.”

            She sighed. “And he doesn’t slip through my fingers.”

            “He won’t.”

            Wendy wished she shared his optimism. Or was it another of those command traits? _‘I ordered it, so of course it will happen.’_ While Tim would obey any reasonable order his superiors gave, you couldn’t just order someone to forgive himself after betraying his friends.

            Nathan gathered his utensils and napkin onto his empty plate. “Thanks for the company.”

            She nodded and smiled. “The pleasure was mine.” Wendy knew what would be next. It was something of a ritual they followed, to help them shift mindset from personal to business and to keep things above-board and out of scuttlebutt.

            He raised his voice as he stood. “Good after­noon, Doctor.”

            “Good afternoon, Captain.”

            Wendy stayed only long enough to finish the rest of her herbal tea. She greeted a few of the crew who sat close by and stood in the chow line. Sensor Chief Miguel Ortiz approached her table. “How is O’Neill, Doc? I went by Medbay, but he’s not there.”

            “He’s doing better, Miguel. I have an appoint­ment with him in…” she glanced at her watch, “fifteen minutes. I’ll tell him you asked.”

            “Thanks.”

            She vacated her seat for an arriving crew­member, as empty tables were now non-existent. Just as well. She wanted to check something on the computer before Tim arrived. Wendy hurried back to Medbay. Although the computer was her goal, she noticed a flashing light on her vid-link console when she entered the room. She depressed the message key. Father Baker appeared on the screen, buttoning up his uniform shirt.

            “I’m taking it on faith that you cleared every­thing with Timothy and your captain. My clear­ance came sooner than expected.” He patted the crucifix that hung around his neck. “Looks like I’ve got Someone Big on my side. I’m on my way now to hop a jet copter. Should be in _seaQuest_ ’s vicinity at nineteen hundred hours. If there’s a problem, you should be able to contact me through the _Ronald Reagan_. Looking forward to meeting you, Doctor. Baker out.” The screen went blank except for the transmission data and the UEO emblem.

            Wendy chuckled; she spoke aloud even though no one else was in the room. “On your side, indeed. That’s got to be some kind of record.”

            She turned away from the vid-screen and back to her original goal: the computer. She typed in “Darwin dream” and ran a search. The computer tagged several references. The captain’s official log dutifully recorded that Nathan had shared a recurring dream about Darwin and that several others, whom he did not name, had seemingly had the same dream.

            Dr. Kristin Westphalen, who was _seaQuest_ ’s chief physician at the time, recorded in her medi­cal logs that she herself had been a recipient of the dream. Intrigued by Dr. Westphalen’s account, not to mention her charming British accent, Wendy listened to the entire entry. Dr. Westpha­len had been on shore leave at Caicos Key Dol­phin Research Facility, 200 miles away from Darwin and the other crew, yet there was little difference in the content of her dream. Even though she was with at least thirty other dolphins, she was convinced it was Darwin who appeared in—and sent—the dream. Back on _seaQuest_ , she had documented at least six others had shared the same dream, but she, too, left all crew member’s names out of the record. She also cited some data that supported her theory that dolphins can some­how transmit dreams directly into human neurol­ogy.

            A polite rap on the open door drew Wendy’s attention from the computer. O’Neill stood in the hatchway, looking positively miserable. She flipped a switch and stood. “Come in, Tim. I was just reviewing Dr. Westphalen’s logs concerning the dreams you all had about Darwin.”

            “So you know it had nothing to do with being psychic,” he said.

            She paused before answering. “Perhaps Dar­win didn’t choose you because you were _already_ psychic, but I’m not sure that this experience didn’t enhance your psi factor somehow.”

            Tim shook his head. “I can’t even read a poker face.”

            “We can discuss this at another time. First, we need to address your guilt.”

            For a second, Wendy almost thought she saw him smirk. But his voice was as grave as the emotional cloud that hung over him. “I’m leaving _seaQuest_ so you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

            She got a strong sense of the phrase, “saddled with a burden,” which she attempted to ignore because she was trying _not_ to read him. But the phrase angered her and she could only restrain so much of it. “ _Have_ to worry? Do you think I only care about you because it’s my job?”

            “No, but—”

            She interrupted, “Did you talk to the captain yet?” How stupid did it make _her_ look to be ask­ing for special favors for him only minutes before he tried to resign?

            Tim shook his head. “I can’t face him again.”

            Wendy backed up her emotions. This was all wrong. There was something he wasn’t telling her. “What are you planning?”

            Tim shut the hatch. “Is this confidential?”

            She didn’t like where this was going but she took confidentiality seriously. She nodded. “Of course.”

            “I’m not waiting for him to accept my resigna­tion.”

            “Tim!” Quitting was one thing, but not to ex­tend Capt. Bridger the courtesy? She’d been so sure she could stop him from throwing away a career he excelled in and leaving the only friends he had. “Where would you go?”

            He sighed and Wendy felt deep despair. “Mili­tary prison, probably.”

            How could he assume the captain would go that far? She knew Tim respected him and didn’t view him as a tyrant. _What in the world is going on?_ “Just promise me not to do anything before you see Father Baker.”

            He blinked and his glasses magnified the ef­fect. “He’s not taking my calls.”

            “That’s because he’s in a jet copter, on his way here.”

            Brows furrowed and his head shook. “Here? Why?”

            The word “excommunication” was so loud in Wendy’s mind that she clamped her hands over her ears. Under her breath, she muttered, “I have to figure out how you do that so I can help you stop it.” Once she’d convinced herself that her eardrums weren’t in danger, she lowered her hands. Tim looked ready to respond to her mut­tering and she didn’t want to get sidetracked again. She raised her voice to normal volume. “He’s asked your permission to let me hypnotize you to help you remember what happened. He wants to absolve you of everything, including what you’ve tried to drive out of your mind.” There. It was out. _Please, Tim, grab the life-line of hope_.

            “Father Baker is coming here, to _seaQuest_?”

            “He’ll be here at nineteen hundred.”

            “And it’s not for excommunication?”

            Wendy laughed lightly, but cut it short lest he infer she was ridiculing him. “No. He’s trying to be _thorough_ because that is what you need right now.”

            Tim all but choked on a sigh of relief. Then his face changed as a new thought dawned. “Jet copter? But we’re submerged.”

            Wendy shook her head, glad it was her turn to drop the surprises. “Capt. Bridger is surfacing to meet him—as a personal favor.”

            By the look on his face, he assumed she meant a favor to _her_ , and though it was only mar­ginally true, Wendy wasn’t going to take the chance that Tim would try to snub all their efforts just because he felt unworthy. _Let him think what he wants_. “So do I have your permission?”

            His head nodded before he found his voice. “Yes.”

            Wendy let relief wash over her for a second. This bought her time, but he wasn’t quite out of the woods yet. She softened her mien and beck­oned him. “Why don’t you come in? Most of the medical department is on shore leave.”

            “Um…I don’t…” He was obviously searching for an excuse.

            “I want to talk about your psychic abilities.”

            He shook his head. “I don’t have them.”

            “I beg to differ, Tim. You may not be a Re­ceiver or Empath, like me. But I have reason to believe you are a pretty strong Transmitter.” She grinned to realize how relevant these terms would be to a communications officer.

            He didn’t look convinced.

            “Tell me, when Darwin connects with you, how do you feel?”

            He swallowed. “To be honest? Uncomfort­able. When he was sick, I felt terrified. The cap­tain and I got lost in the aqua tunnels trying to get Darwin back to the moon pool, and I thought we would both run out of air. Darwin wasn’t swim­ming well enough to lead us, he was so sick.”

            “How about the dreams?”

            “No, but…”

            “But what?”

            He looked down at his hands, probably embar­rassed or perhaps simply cornered. “It just reinforces how much of a misfit I am. I tell Dar­win things I don’t tell anyone else. I dream dol­phin dreams. This isn’t exactly normal.”

            “Do you think _I_ ’m abnormal?”

            “No! You’re… you’re useful.”

            “Do you have any idea how many people fear and scorn Receivers like me?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s get back to you. I’ve had several impressions from you in the last few days and they’re not the same as what I usually perceive. Instead of feelings, I get distinct sen­tences—verbal messages, if you will—from you.”

            “So even my mind is misfit.”

            She reached out and touched his shoulder. “Not ‘misfit’, Tim. Special. I’m not saying it’s wrong or bad, just different. I’m trying to figure out why.”

            “You said you pick up ‘verbal messages’ from a communications officer and that surprises you?”

            “Well, the fact it was _words_ …” She smiled. “You’re right! You live and breathe words, don’t you?”

            He smirked. “In eighteen different lan­guages.”

            A laugh broke out. “Of course. That explains a lot.” She tapped her finger on the table. “Still, I’ve never received messages from any of the other communications crew, and only recently from you.”

            “You might say I’ve been under a lot of ‘stress’ lately, Doctor. I’ll try to stop broadcast­ing.”

            “You’ve been _trying_ to broadcast?”

            Tim chuckled nervously. “Just when I saw you and the captain in the mess. I was afraid you were going to ask me to join you.”

            “So I gathered. Quite loudly, in fact. I don’t think you should try to quash your abilities. Just maybe learn some control.”

            “How do I control something that I don’t know I’m doing?”

            Wendy shook her head. “I don’t know yet. But I’d like to try something. It’s a gen­eral test of psi abilities. Are you up for it?”

            “Are you going to scan me?”

            “No. I want _you_ to try to scan _me_.”

            Tim’s mouth opened and he stuttered a few disjointed syllables, but he was more surprised than unwilling.

            “We need to hold hands and I am going to try to concentrate on one specific thought. See if you sense anything,” Wendy said, offering a hand.

            He stared at her hand. She didn’t rush him. Exploring his psychic senses wasn’t really a high priority right now. Yes, she was intensely inter­ested herself, but not enough to further his sense of distress. It seemed a good way to keep his mind distracted from the crushing guilt, but only if _he_ was interested too.

            Tim slipped a sweaty, cool hand into hers. She gripped it tightly, then relaxed and covered the back of his hand with her other hand. Her first task was closing off her own Reception, and that took a great deal of mental energy. She closed her eyes.

            “Um… should I close my eyes too?” Tim asked nervously.

            Wendy imagined him at the communications station at the bridge, listening on his headset. His fingers often pressed against the earpiece, but she couldn’t picture his eyes. “Pretend you’re listen­ing to a signal on the bridge and having trouble making it out. Do whatever you normally do to concentrate.”

            She opened one eye just a crack to watch him. He nodded quickly. Taking orders was a lot more comfortable to him than having conversations with mutual exchange. In seconds, his face be­came a picture of concentration. She closed her eye again and carefully chose what she wanted to send. Nothing too complicated, but something relevant to him and something she wanted him to _experience_ like he never could just by hearing her relate it. If her theory about him being a Trans­mitter was true, he probably wouldn’t get any­thing more than the vaguest feeling of his own worth. She reviewed her chosen thought several times, like rewinding a video playback and re­peating it.

            “Whoa!” Tim jumped and released her hand.

            Her eyes flew open and she studied him, stunned at how forcibly he’d reacted. “Tim? Are you all right? What happened?”

            “I…”

            She nodded encouragingly.

            “I think I got my wires crossed.” He said it like he wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

            She chuckled. “Your _wires_?”

            “I was trying to listen to _you_ , but instead, I heard the captain.”

            This was surprising, but only a little. “What did you feel?”

            “It was more like seeing and hearing. The cap­tain said, ‘I _don’t_ want to lose him.’” Tim re­ported the exact same inflection Wendy remem­bered in Nathan’s voice. “I think he was point­ing.”

            “Your wires weren’t crossed, Tim. Capt. Bridger said those exact words to me at lunch and I was hoping you could get just a feeling of how valuable you are to him.”

            “ _I_ was the ‘him’?”

            “Yes.”

            “Wow.”

            She chuckled. “I really didn’t expect you to hear him so clearly. I wanted you to feel his sin­cere admiration and my agreement with him, but I didn’t take into account how well you home in on _words_.”

            “I like words,” he said with a sheepish grin.

            “Is there any question you chose the perfect career, then?”

            “You got me there,” he admitted.

            “You know, I spent a good deal of my life trying to hide my abilities or even shut them down. If you want to use this, I could help you develop it. But you make valuable contributions without psychic abilities. Remember that.”

            He nodded. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

            “Why don’t you go rest a while? I’ll let you know when Father Baker is arriving so you can meet him on sea deck.”

            “Thank you…Wendy.” He took a backwards step away.

            _He called me Wendy!_ She grinned. “See you later.”


	5. Chapter 5

            Wendy stood back a ways when Father Baker boarded _seaQuest_. Tim should have a moment alone with his priest before having to share him. Capt. Bridger stepped in silently beside her. The captain didn’t have to meet him for any military courtesy, but after the unscheduled surfacing, he was evidently curious about the man he’d done it for. Wendy glanced at him and smiled. He’d changed from his navy blue _seaQuest_ jumpsuit into the slightly more formal khaki uniform.

            Salty sea air wafted through the exterior hull door and Wendy heard the jet copter’s blades whirring outside. Father Baker appeared in the doorway alone, dressed in khaki’s to match Na­than’s, decorated with the rank of lieutenant. He carried only a small black duffel, which he dropped the moment he stepped onto the deck in­side. Tim bent to pick it up, but Father Baker precluded it with an embrace. The communica­tions officer was caught off guard at first, but he appeared to reciprocate shortly. Wendy felt affec­tion radiating off them both. After their reunion, Tim picked up the duffel and both of them pro­ceeded toward where Wendy and Nathan stood. Tim’s face registered surprise at seeing the cap­tain with her. Father Baker stopped his trek and saluted. Not bad for the beach bum she’d first met on vid-link. Wendy didn’t even give a sideways glance to know with certainty that the captain re­turned the salute.

            “Capt. Nathan Bridger and Dr. Wendy Smith, this is Lt. Stanley Baker,” Tim said formally.

            Wendy sensed that the chaplain wanted to fol­low his gentlemanly instincts and greet her first, but he quashed them in favor of military protocol. After the salute, he extended his hand to the ranking officer. “Capt. Bridger. Permission to board?”

            The two shook hands while Nathan chuckled. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t after I raised her for you.”

            “And I thank you for that, Captain.” The chap­lain turned to Wendy. “Dr. Smith, a plea­sure.”

            Wendy decided to refrain from shaking hands. It would take too much mental energy to block all his emotions while touching, and she was trying to save that energy for the hypnotism. From what she’d gathered, the chaplain wasn’t the type to extend his hand to a lady when she didn’t extend hers, nor was he likely to interpret it as any sort of slight. If anything, he respected her for holding to traditional femininity. She simply smiled. “Father Baker. Welcome aboard.”

            “Mr. O’Neill, you may escort the chaplain to guest quarters on B-deck.”

            “Thank you, Captain,” Tim said.

            Wendy knew his thanks were for much more than just assigning some guest quarters. It was too bad Nathan barely gave it a second thought. O’Neill and Baker headed to the mag-lev corridor. Wendy called to their backs, “After you get set­tled in, I’d love to give you a tour of Medbay.” Neither Tim nor the chaplain wanted to wait until morning before they took care of spiritual busi­ness. This was the politest way she could devise to offer to do the hypnosis tonight.

            “I’d like that, Doctor,” Father Baker said.

            “Please, call me Wendy, Father.”

            He grinned back at her. “Only if you’ll call me Stan.”


	6. Chapter 6

            “Have you had anything to eat, Father?” Tim asked as soon as the mag-lev started moving. Most of his despair had vanished once he saw his priest in the flesh. While he wasn’t really looking forward to the hypnosis, he was ready to do any­thing to mend his soul. Father Baker would help him. He _knew_ it.

            “Not since zero-nine-hundred.”         

            “There’s a mess on B-deck.”

            “Won’t Dr. Smith be waiting?”

            Tim shook his head. “No, she’d probably scold me if I didn’t get you fed first.”

            The chaplain chuckled. “All right, but let’s at least tell her we’re delayed.”

            “She probably already knows.”

            Father Baker shook his head. Either he thought Tim was rude and wanted no party to it, or he just didn’t understand.

            “Umm, Father, did I ever mention that Dr. Smith is a telepath?”

            One didn’t have to be psychic to read Father Baker’s surprise. Tim nodded to his questioning looks.

            “Thanks for the warning.”

            “She won’t read your mind without permis­sion,” Tim said.

            “That’s good to know. How does she feel about Romans?”

            “She’s always been very respectful of my be­liefs. She recognized that I needed to go to con­fession before I thought about it.”

            A nod from the older man. “I think she was ready to have my head on a platter when she thought I wasn’t going to absolve you.”

            Tim screwed up his face and lifted his shoul­ders in an exaggerated shrug. “Mea culpa.”

            “Wait. _You_ thought I wasn’t going to absolve you?”

            He looked down and spoke quietly. “I’ve read Dante. In Italian, actually.”

            “And you assume your so-called betrayal con­demns you to the deepest level of hell, with Judas Iscariot, is that it, hmm?”

            Tim nodded, not taking his eyes off the floor.

            Father Baker patted his shoulder. “I’ve done you a disservice in making you wait this long, Timothy. I should have gotten you and Dr. Smith on vid-link at once, or sent you to a closer priest. I’m sorry.”

            Tim straightened. “I forgive you if you for­give me.”

            The priest laughed. “That’s what I came here for, my son. Judas committed suicide. You’re willing to face what you did and repent. That’s all the Lord requires for forgiveness.”

            Tim heaved a sigh of relief. _Drop off luggage. Grab some food. Then get to Medbay_. It couldn’t happen fast enough for the guilt-ridden lieutenant.

            Father Baker seemed to sense his yearning and didn’t dawdle. Tim urged him to sit and enjoy his meal in the mess, but the priest took a sand­wich and insisted he’d eat on the way. They didn’t bother telling Wendy of any delay, since they’d taken no more time getting to Medbay than had the chaplain decided to take a quick ion shower. She’d said, _when you’re settled_ , and they were almost too fast to have done even that.

            Still, Tim was not surprised to find Dr. Smith ready for them. She gave them a very brief tour, probably sensing how eager they were to get to business. The last room she led them to was a small room used for quarantines. While practi­cally every room aboard _seaQuest_ was watertight, this one sported extra silicone seals and no port­holes. It was meant to be germproof as well as waterproof.

            “How’s this for our hypnosis?” she asked.

            Tim had seen the room before, but it had a bed and medical diagnostic equipment then. To­night those had been replaced with three plush armchairs and a small table. It looked comfortable and very private. He couldn’t have asked for any­thing more suitable, anywhere. _This is perfect_. He didn’t say anything, waiting for Father Baker to pronounce judgment, but he looked up at Wendy and realized he’d just Transmitted. She nodded in silent acknowledgement.

            “I can see why Timothy prefers to stay aboard his boat,” the chaplain said. “This is better than any confession booth I’ve ever utilized. Tim­othy?”

            Tim nodded. “It’s great, thank you, Doctor.” He wondered when she moved all this furniture and where she could have stashed the bed, but it didn’t matter.

            “Timothy should be in the center, right?” Fa­ther Baker asked Dr. Smith.

            “Yes, I think that’s best,” she said.

            Tim had been anxious to get started, but now his hands started to sweat and his stomach tigh­tened. He tried to ignore his nervousness and took the center seat. Father Baker sat on his right and Dr. Smith took the left. Tim didn’t see where it came from, but the chaplain was already placing a stole vestment around his neck, whispering in Latin.

            Tim genuflected, plucked up some courage, and blurted out: “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

            Dr. Smith spoke softly. “I need a little more preparation for hypnosis.”

            “I don’t need it for this part, Wendy.” He was purposely informal with her. He wanted her to hear this _as a friend_.

            Wendy blinked and gripped the arms of her chair. “Should I leave you alone then?”

            “No, please stay. This won’t take long.” Tim turned to Father Baker. “I made plans to desert _seaQuest_ , Father. I would have put my captain in a very awkward position.”

            Wendy looked ready to say something. He knew she wanted to defend Capt. Bridger, to say that he would have let him resign. Tim was pretty sure himself that the captain wouldn’t have in­voked court martial. Technically, his 30-day leave hadn’t yet expired, so he wouldn’t have been AWOL for quite a while. But the whole plan was deceptive and manipulative, not to mention cow­ardly.

            “Was this today, Timothy?” Father Baker asked.

            “Yes, today. If we hadn’t been submerged, I would have been gone before I knew you were coming.”

            “Well, then, thank the Lord for nice, deep oceans. I think I understand what drove you to such foolishness, but running away would only have compounded your problems.”

            “I see that now. It was wrong.”

            “Very well. Is there anything else?”

            “Yes, but I need Dr. Smith’s help.”

            Father Baker nodded and leaned back into his chair. He gestured toward Tim and spoke to Wendy. “Whenever you’re ready.”

            “Lie back and close your eyes, Tim.”

            He drew a deep breath and did as she told him.

            “You need to relax. I will ask you to lower all your mental defenses, so it’s very likely I will be able to read your emotions.” Her voice was even softer and more melodic than usual.

            “I understand.” If she was reading him now, she’d realize he felt uncomfortable, but it ran in the same vein as the embarrassment he felt when­ever a female physician had to examine him un­dressed. Humiliating, but sometimes necessary.

            “I’m not _trying_ to probe you. Whatever I perceive from you is irrelevant as far as your con­fession goes, so you need to _talk_ to Father Baker. I’m just here to help you remember.”

            Tim didn’t try to nod. She’d said to relax. He thought, _okay, let’s do it_ , and wondered idly whether he’d Transmitted. Did he need to con­centrate for that? _Not going to worry about that now…_

            “Good. Slow your breathing and concentrate only on my voice.”

            _It’s so soft. So alluring_. Did he hear a tiny chuckle? He felt a warm coziness enveloping his body.

            “You’re feeling sleepy. It’s all right to let your mind fall asleep now. You’re safe here. You will remain able to speak while your conscious mind sleeps.”

            _Sleep? Yes, that would be nice. Good night…_ Time stood still. He wasn’t thinking about any­thing in particular and he didn’t hear Wendy’s voice for a while.

            “Tim? Are you sleeping now?”

            “Mmm Hmm.”

            “I’m going to take your pulse, okay?”

            “Okay, Doctor.”

            “Call me Wendy.”

            With no conscious mind to hold him back, he didn’t hesitate. “Go ahead, Wendy.”

            He felt her fingers on his wrist. _Soft. Warm. Sensitive_. “You’re doing fine, Tim. I’m going to take you back to the time when you were Ma­riah’s prisoner on her attack sub. You can remem­ber everything with complete clarity, but you are watching from a safe distance. It isn’t happening now. She can’t hurt you.”

            His brows creased with the influx of memory. “She hurt us. We tried so hard to escape, but we can’t get away.”

            “Who is ‘we’, Tim?”

            “The conscious part of Tim and me.”

            “Do you feel disconnected to your body?”

            “Yes, the last jolt of genome-wave-energy rendered us unconscious. But I’m awake. I can stop the torture. All I have to do is give her the code.”

            Father Baker interrupted. “Timothy, do you know who this is?”

            “Father Baker.”

            “Right. I have a question for you. Do you have a choice? Do you realize what it means to reveal this code?”

            “It stops the pain. It keeps us alive.”

            “What about your friends on _seaQuest_?”

            “Tim won’t let me do anything to hurt them. The best he ever lets me get away with is sabo­taging his dates. I don’t have control.”

            “Tim is unconscious. You’re acting alone.”

            “If I don’t give the code, we’ll both die.”

            Wendy whispered, “Father, let me…” Her voice grew a little louder. “Tim, cluck like a chicken.”

            She said it so casually. It didn’t occur to him to think about resisting. He clucked.

            “Father,” Wendy whispered. “The state of his mind then was no different than what it is now. He’s in the military. He follows orders.”

            He whispered back, “But I thought you couldn’t force someone to do something he truly doesn’t want to do?”

            Wendy directed her voice back to Tim. “Did you know that giving Mariah the code would be­tray your friends?”

            His voice faltered. “I—I thought _he’d_ stop me. I tell him to say things all the time, but _he_ doesn’t say them. _He_ has the self-control. Oh, Father, I betrayed our friends. I wish I could take it back. I should have let her kill us.”

            Father Baker asked, “Then you repent of this action?”

            “Yes. I should have fought the impulse. I was selfish.”

            “I’m going to absolve you now. But you should let your conscious mind remember so that you’ll feel whole again.”

            “I can let _him_ remember when we’re for­given.”

            Father Baker began praying in Latin. That was one reason Tim loved to confess to him and not a more progressive priest. Latin was such a beautiful language and so few spoke it any more. Most priests learned a few rote prayers, but Father Baker _spoke_ the language. There were many times they talked by vid-link and never bothered with English at all. After the prayer, they conversed in Latin, with the chaplain reminding him of St. Paul, who had once participated in stoning Chris­tians, but whom the Lord had forgiven. “We need our guilt to spur us to repentance, but the blood of Christ sets us free so we can move on.”

            It dawned on Tim that Father Baker had switched to English at some point, but he was so enthralled with their exchange that he wasn’t sure when the switch happened. _Was that for Wendy’s sake?_ he wondered. It had been a little rude to sit and talk for all this time in a language she didn’t understand. But she’d said herself that she was only there to help him remember. And she’d done that.

            “Is there anything else you need to say, Tim­othy?”

            “No, Father, thank you.”

            Wendy’s voice was next. “Tim, I’m going to count backwards from five and each number will bring you closer to consciousness. You will wake up feeling refreshed and alert when I say ‘one’. You will remember only what is comfortable for you to remember. Are you ready?”

            “Yes.”

            “Five…you realize you’re done sleeping and ready to wake up. Four…your heartbeat and breathing are steadily building up to waking le­vels. Three…you’re sensing the rest of the world around you. Two…you feel the circulation return to your muscles and feel energized. One…you’re awake.”

            Tim opened his eyes. Both Dr. Smith and Fa­ther Baker were watching him. “What? Did I sleep all night?”

            Wendy checked her watch. “No, it’s only been twenty minutes since we started. How do you feel?”

            “Great, actually.” He stretched his arms over his head.

            “What do you remember, Timothy?” Father Baker asked. He stood and offered his hand.

            Tim blinked. “Everything, I think. I remember now what happened with Mariah.” He paused a second to absorb the new memory. “I also re­member that I confessed everything and you ab­solved me.” He face broke out in a huge grin. He took Father Baker’s hand. It was _over_. Really and truly over.


	7. Chapter 7

            Lt. O’Neill returned to duty the next day. It took him about two hours to sort out all the bugs in communications—bugs which the other mem­bers of his team had spent days trying to fix. Hen­derson might have gotten the job done, but she was busy with sensors and navigation—sections deemed more important since they were still run­ning shakedown cruises.

            Everyone wel­comed him back and he was surprised to accept their welcomes as the warm and genuine gestures they were meant. _There’s no place like home_. And he was home now. He wasn’t even dreading his promised session with Dr. Smith. She’d helped him so far and he wasn’t going to quit on her.

            Father Baker stayed until the next scheduled surfacing, enjoying the grand tour and a visit with the ecumenical chaplain aboard. Capt. Bridger invited both he and Tim to dinner, along with Dr. Smith and Cmdr. Ford. Tim would have felt very odd as the most junior officer had it not been for the lucky fact that Miguel was invited. While the presence of a visiting chaplain might have had a dampening effect on some military personnel, Tim didn’t detect any difference from how every­one would normally act. No one seemed uncom­fortable, including Tim himself.

            The captain extended a blanket invitation to “come back anytime” and even Ford seemed taken with Father Baker’s wit and humor. Tim overheard him telling Brody that the dinner (his invitation evidently not envied) “really wasn’t bad” and he wouldn’t even mind going fishing with the man.

            Before Tim knew it, Father Baker was gone and _seaQuest_ was completely repaired and patrol­ling the oceans once again. Tim decided to spend some of his off-duty time on personal enrichment besides reading, but he no longer cared about be­coming a famous painter. This wasn’t about get­ting away from the navy or reinventing himself. If Capt. Bridger found him valuable, he wouldn’t argue, but he wasn’t going to stop there. He had no desire to command, but a promotion to full lieutenant wouldn’t hurt. He could still do what he was best at, just add some skills to his repertoire and maybe a few credits to his paychecks. He did it for himself, but also to enhance _seaQuest_ ’s crew and her mission.

            He enrolled in an advanced diving class, which was mostly a refresher for the science staff. Lucas helped him beef up the computer in his quarters. He had plenty of language books, but he needed more than books to practice, especially with more obscure languages that books often didn’t cover. The Internex offered access to lan­guages around the world.

            He was feeling slightly better about himself when he returned to Dr. Smith for his session.

            “I think it’s great that you’ve channeled your energy into bettering yourself,” she said.

            Tim accepted that it was harder for her to block out his thoughts because he evidently “screamed” them all the time, but it still unnerved him to have his privacy invaded.

            “Dr. Minway told me about the diving class and Lucas mentioned the computer,” she offered in quick explanation.

            He nodded, but the explanation only proved she had sensed his feeling of violation, and that was precisely the point.

            “How about learning some psi techniques so you can guard your mind better?” she suggested.

            He sighed. “I suppose it’s rude for me to scream at you so much.”

            She chuckled. “I admit it’s difficult for me to block, but I was thinking of your privacy, not my­self. Besides, you never know when your abilities might come in handy.”

            A horrifying thought hit him like the prover­bial ton of bricks. _No!_ He could never allow his mind to betray anyone ever again. “Forget pri­vacy, Doctor. If I can’t stop Transmitting, I’m a security risk. They won’t even have to kidnap and torture me.”

            Alarm registered in Wendy’s eyes. Evidently, she hadn’t thought of this before either. “You’re right. Your secrets are safe with me, but there are plenty of telepaths who don’t share my scruples. Have you told anyone about this?”

            Tim shook his head. “Not intentionally, but how do I know who can hear if I’m Transmitting?”

            “I only felt you from afar when you were un­der extreme duress. I haven’t sensed anything on _seaQuest_ except when we’re in the same room. Still…” She touched his shoulder. “We need to tell the captain. Do you want me to do it?”

            Tim stood tall, almost at attention. “No, I should make the request. But maybe you should come with me in case he has questions.”

            Wendy depressed the com button on the tri­angular wall console. “Smith to Captain.”

            A short pause, then: “Bridger.”

            “Lt. O’Neill and I need to see you right away.”

            “Medbay?”

            “We can come to you.”

            “Meet me in the ward room.”

            In less than five minutes, the three of them were sitting at a semi-circular table in one of the most secure rooms on the boat. Tim took a deep breath and forced himself to meet the captain’s gaze. “Captain, for the safety of all aboard, I re­quest that you revoke my security clearance and change all command codes.”

            His eyes widened for a second, and then he gave a questioning gaze to Wendy, who nodded silently. But the captain frowned and shook his head. “If this is about the Mariah incident…”

            Tim didn’t want to interrupt, but as soon as there was the slightest pause, he took advantage of it. “No, sir. It’s not.”

            “You have my complete confidence, Mr. O’Neill.”

            It felt so good to hear him say that, but it didn’t help with the issue at hand. Tim shot a pleading look at Wendy.

            She took the cue. “I’m hoping the risk is tempo­rary, but I think the precautions are justified for now.”

            “I can’t just revoke a bridge officer’s security clearance. It would look like I’m blaming him for getting kidnapped and tortured! And if anyone is to blame for that, it’s me, because _I’m_ the one who sent him on forced shore leave.”

            “Captain,” Wendy said gently, “do you remem­ber when I collapsed in my quarters?”

            “How could I forget? I heard you down the hall and through a closed hatch.”

            “Nathan, I collapsed at the exact same mo­ment as Mariah used that Zapper on him.”

            Capt. Bridger nodded, but he still looked puz­zled.

            “I think the genome-wave-energy somehow enhanced Tim’s psi factor, which was why we could link so strongly in spite of the physical dis­tance between us.”

            “So Mr. O’Neill is a telepath now?”

            “Not exactly. He doesn’t Receive like I do; he Transmits. It’s a rarer gift.”

            Tim spoke up. “Dr. Smith hears my thoughts like screaming.”

            She nodded. “He’s very hard to block.”

            “Well, this must be difficult for you both,” Bridger said. “But I still don’t see—”

            Wendy interrupted. “I think I can help him learn to control it and I’ve already had some suc­cess in blocking him when he isn’t concentrating too hard.”

            Tim took over. “Sir, what if I link with _another_ telepath? I don’t know yet when I’m screaming my thoughts and if someone just men­tioned the codes, all I would have to do is _think_ about them and…”

            Capt. Bridger’s eyes went wide and he moved forward abruptly. “You’re ‘screaming’ secrets to _every_ telepath, everywhere?”

            Wendy put her hand up. “No. I only linked long-distance that one time, when he was getting bombarded with G.W.E. And that link was very fuzzy. I could only tell that he was somehow con­nected to the Marauder and his bugs. Since then, I’ve only Received when we’re in the same room.”

            “Okay, so the boat is secure as long as we keep other telepaths away from him, right?”

            “Yes, I think so,” Wendy said.

            The captain stroked his chin. “Taking away his clearance would interfere with his duties and appear in the logs. Everyone on the bridge would know and it would spread over the whole boat. It smacks of disciplinary action and I don’t want to do that if there’s another way.” He turned to Tim, his finger pointing. “If you’re willing to confine yourself, voluntarily, then nothing has to go on your record. What do you say?”

            Tim blinked. The captain was bending over backwards just to protect him. “Absolutely, sir. I’ve had enough shore leave to last a year.”

            The captain clapped him on the back. “As soon as Dr. Smith says your mind is secure, you can go ashore again. This is not a house arrest.”

            “I appreciate it, Captain. I have no intention of leaving as long as I’d be broadcasting my thoughts, all willy-nilly.”

            Bridger chuckled. “Can’t say I blame you there.” He turned back to Wendy. “I want you to scan every guest, every visiting scientist, every UEO dignitary that comes aboard.”

            “ _Scan_ , Captain?”

            “You heard me, Doctor. Do whatever you have to do to make sure none of them are Receiv­ers. It’s my understanding you can usually get in­side their minds and back out without them knowing.”

            She nodded. “Unless they’re psychic.”

            “That’s what we need to know. If they detect you scanning or you find blocks of any kind, then I need to know about it so we can be sure Mr. O’Neill is always at the opposite end of the boat and never asleep while they’re here.”

            Tim piped in. “Never asleep?”

            “It’s much easier to enter your mind when you’re sleeping, Tim,” Wendy explained.

            “Oh.” This was rather unsettling. Would he ever sleep well again, knowing it made him open to psychic probes?

            The captain stood and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. If I can block it, you can.”

            “ _You_ can block it?” Wendy asked.

            “Well, not _block_ , exactly, but the last time the UEO sent telepaths onboard to sniff out a security leak, I saw her in my dream and I woke up imme­diately.”

            “The mediators who came for the Library of Alexandria negotiations?” Tim asked.

            Bridger leaned back down. “Yes. How did you know that? It was classified.”

            “I had a strange dream about the young woman, what was her name?”

            “Rossovich. Savannah Rossovich. Why didn’t you report this?”

            Tim scoffed lightly. “Report what? That I dreamed about a beautiful woman?”

            Bridger laughed. “I see your point. But you said the dream was strange?”

            “Did you ever dream about someone you’d never met and then have her show up in the flesh the next day?”

            “Ah. You thought it was a premonition.”

            “I didn’t know what to think. I figured maybe I caught a glimpse of her the day before, but I was too busy worrying about all the hostile ships parked above us to register seeing her. The dream wasn’t really disturbing, so I just chalked it up to stress.”

            “Okay, any other strange dreams, report them to Dr. Smith, understood?”

            “Aye, sir.”

            The captain patted Wendy’s shoulder. “Keep me informed.”

            She nodded and started to stand. The captain was headed out the door.

            Tim cleared his throat. “Um, Doctor? Can I talk to you, like, now?”

            Wendy waited until the captain left. “Sure, Tim. What is it?”

            “I—uh—” He inhaled and then spoke in a hurry. “I want you to scan me when I’m asleep.”

            “You _want_ me to scan you?”

            “We need to know whether I’m a security risk. Can you think of any other way?”

            “Most people see a scan as a huge invasion of privacy.”

            He nodded. “Yeah, but I’d rather have you do it than find out later that I’m Transmitting secrets to any telepath who knows my sleep schedule.”

            “All right. I’ll try from my quarters first and we’ll vary the distance to see what the range is.”

            “Wendy,” he said softly. He knew she’d listen if he dropped the formality. “You have to try to get something classified out of me. You can’t help me if we don’t know my weaknesses.”

            “No kid gloves,” she said with a nod. “You’re right. We have to know.”

            “It’s not going to be easy to fall asleep.”

            “I’ll be there when you least expect it, so there’s no point in putting it off.”

            He forced a chuckle and looked away as he spoke, sarcasm lacing his words. “I tell a telepath to invade my mind and she says there’s no point avoiding the time I’m most vulnerable.”

            She laughed as she headed to the door. “Re­lax. It’ll be fine.”

            Tim was right behind her, muttering to him­self. “Fine, she says. Relax. Sure. Right.”

            He returned to his quarters and changed his clothes. It took two hours of reading Russian grammar before he felt tired enough to attempt sleep, but sleep came eventually.


	8. Chapter 8

            Wendy set an alarm for 0300 before she went to bed. No doubt, Tim was right and would take a while to fall asleep. She didn’t want to wait or risk a false start. When she awoke, she shut off the alarm, but didn’t rise or turn on any lights. In her mind, she traveled through _seaQuest_ until she came to Tim’s quarters on A-deck. They were considerably smaller than hers, but his rank af­forded him the privilege of sole occupancy. His computer screen glowed blue and Wendy glanced at an Internex page. Whatever language it was, it didn’t have a Western alphabet. _Staring at that gibberish had to have been better than a sedative_.

            She studied Tim’s breathing to make sure he was asleep before she attempted contact. Satisfied he was deep in REM, she concentrated on his mind and slipped silently into his dream.

            She found herself on a lush tropical beach with maybe eight other women. She did her best to blend in, clothing herself in a bikini like the others wore and altering her hair style so it was long and blonde. She even deepened her tan and changed her eye color. She didn’t recognize any of the women. Since all they did was giggle and splash each other, she joined them inconspi­cuously.

            Tim sat a good twenty feet away, at a round table shaded by a brightly-colored umbrella. He wore his khaki’s and sipped some kind of fruit drink while reading a heavy tome whose cover Wendy couldn’t see. She could sense that he en­joyed the sound of the waves and the laughter of the women, but they were all just soothing back­ground. He wasn’t ogling or trying to flirt with them.

            She could feel his relaxed mood and see every­thing he was seeing, but there was a literal wall just behind where he sat. It was one solid piece of steel diamond-plate with no welds or ri­vets. It stretched as far as the eye could see to both sides and straight up from the ground into an infi­nite sky. _Okay, I can’t just browse around in his mind. I’ll have to play along in the dream_.

            Wendy left the giggling bikini babes and ap­proached Tim’s table. When he saw her, he put his book down. “Wendy? Is that you?”

            He’d recognized her, which was a surprise. However, he didn’t address her formally, so he probably didn’t realize she was from outside his mind. With a single thought, she changed into ca­sual island clothes that covered her more like she preferred and reverted to her own hair and facial features. She smiled. “Yeah, it’s me. Mind if I join you?”

            He swept his arm. “Please do.”

            Tim didn’t normally smile that widely but this was his dream and inhibitions were superfluous. Wendy had to admit that he did look pretty goofy, but she could get used to it. It was definitely an improvement over seeing him depressed. He waved his hand again and a fresh drink appeared in front of her. She did what everyone always did in dreams, and acted like defying the laws of physics was nothing odd at all. “Thanks,” she said with a smile.

            “Wow, I can’t believe you come here too.” She sensed his belief that most people would con­sider it a boring place, but he didn’t feel any shame for liking it himself.

            “I was looking for _you_ ,” Wendy said.

            This didn’t surprise him as much as it would have in the waking world. At first, she wondered whether he might frequently dream of her, pos­sibly in a romantic way. As if to answer her suspi­cion, his feelings flooded her mind. While he found her attractive, he also thought of her like a sister whose honor he’d defend to the death. He didn’t have so much as a mild case of infatuation. She couldn’t help but be relieved that she wouldn’t need to stoop to seductive measures to trick a secret out of him. He might remember and feel embarrassed when he figured out what really happened.

            “What secret do you need?” he asked.

            Now she was really taken aback. _He_ was read­ing _her_! He knew she wanted a secret, but he hadn’t probed deeply enough to find out what. Or had he? Maybe he was playing her just as much as she was playing him. “What makes you think I want a secret?”

            He flashed a very convincing look of inno­cence and though she strained to sense whether he was deceiving her, she couldn’t get a lock. “Just a hunch,” he said casually.

            Even with all pretense gone, he didn’t seem stressed or nervous. She built a few mental blocks of her own and shoved a few of her own worries behind them. She _had_ to do her very best to coax some secret out of him, but could she do it with­out damaging their friendship?

            “You’re right. The captain sent me. He thinks I’m losing my touch. He wants me to prove my psychic abilities by getting some secret out of you.”

            “I don’t have the missile launch codes. Only Commander Ford does.”

            “Oh, he knows that, Tim. It doesn’t have to be anything that important. Just give me something small. How about Adm. Kirkland’s ident code designation?” The only purpose of the code names was to confirm the identity of high-ranking offi­cials in case they had to contact _seaQuest_ outside of regular channels. Wendy knew these existed because her mother, Adm. Lexington Smith, had been “Seahawk Vanguard.” However, the bridge officers knew all the code names for all the admirals currently serving in the UEO.

            Tim’s face fell. Definitely distressed now. Wendy felt like such a heel. She’d made him choose between helping her keep her job and be­traying military secrets. He shook his head and his voice escaped in a sad whisper. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. The captain would never forgive me for giving up even something so small as that. I won’t violate his trust. But don’t worry.” He took her hand. “He wouldn’t transfer you because you’re not a spy. That’s not part of your job.”

            She smiled back at him. “Good thing, too.” His brows slanted in confusion. She stood and threw her hands in the air. “Wake up, Tim. You did great!”

            As soon as his conscious mind took over, she felt herself pushed out rather forcefully. Back in her own quarters, she slid out of bed, turned her lights up, and grabbed a robe. She had a feeling Tim would be there soon. In less than five min­utes, a knock sounded.

            “Come in, Lieutenant.”

            He wore a long-sleeved thermal shirt, a clash­ing pair of sweatpants, and slippers. His hair wasn’t combed and he’d forgotten his glasses too. His rate of breathing suggested he’d walked faster than normal.

            She smiled and motioned him to sit. “You passed with flying colors.”

            “But you asked so nicely. I thought a scan meant you would be able to see whatever you wanted, without asking.”

            She laughed. “Not with a wall like you had.”

            A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Wall?”

            “People can build barriers inside their mind to protect their thoughts. In a dream state, I most of­ten see these as a literal wall. Usually, the walls have holes or they just aren’t very tall. They aren’t hard to get around, but yours…” She shook her head and scoffed. “There was literally no way in, Tim.”

            “I didn’t see any wall.”

            “It was right behind you. It’s not something you normally need to see, like the back of your head. If you stood and walked, it would follow behind you wherever you went. But I bet if you _tried_ to look for it, you could see it.”

            “Are you sure no one else could get through?”

            “Well, I tried disguising myself and you recog­nized me. You’re not going to be easily fooled and you’re not going to just blurt out se­crets to someone you don’t know. And I don’t think the average telepath could get around that wall to see what you wouldn’t willingly tell.”

            He breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good to know.”

            “I need to try a higher degree of difficulty, but if you pass that, then it means you’d be safe from any psychic weaker than I.”

            “But you’re pretty strong, right?”

            “I’m in the top 10%, yes. But there are others who are stronger.”

            “How would we test for those?”

            She shook her head. “I know a few I might be able to trust enough to help us, but let’s make sure I can’t get through first. Are you willing to push further?”

            “Doesn’t look like I have a choice. What’s the next step?”

            “Things that make mind-reading easier are proximity, touching, and,” she cringed, “certain medications.”

            His eyes went wide and his brows shot up. It looked more pronounced than usual, without his glasses. “You want to drug me?”

            Wendy sighed as she gave a solemn nod. “You know the Marauder wouldn’t hesitate.”

            He gulped. “You’re right. Do it.” He started rolling up his sleeve.

            She gently pushed his hand down. “Oh, we don’t have to do it now. Go ahead and get some sleep. We’ll do it another night.”

            “The Marauder wouldn’t let me rest between attacks.”

            “You’ve got a point. However, _I_ need to rest. There’s no way I have enough psychic energy to try another assault on that fortress of yours to­night.”

            He chuckled for a second and then looked down self-consciously.

            She reached out and touched his arm. “Don’t be embarrassed, Tim. That wall is a very good sign. Your mind is probably _more_ secure than the rest of the bridge crew’s, not less.”

            He nodded a little, but he wasn’t really accept­ing the compliment. “Uh, then I’ll let you get back to sleep. Sorry for keeping you up.” He headed toward the door.

            She grabbed his hand and gave it a little squeeze. “It’s all right. I’m _glad_ you came up, even in the middle of the night. Parapsychology is my passion. And you’ve been braver about this than I could have asked for. Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome.”


	9. Chapter 9

            Tim hurried back to his quarters, glad no one saw the way he was dressed. He felt encouraged that Dr. Smith couldn’t get into his mind without taking some extra steps. He wasn’t Transmitting secrets haphazardly and it didn’t look likely that, short of another kidnap, he’d have to worry about being a security risk. One more session with no-holds-barred and they could report to the captain. Everyone could be relieved and business could go on as usual.

            Tim noticed his computer monitor was still on, so he dimmed the screen before crawling back into bed. He was already tired and much less nervous, so sleep came easily.

            The next day, he didn’t have time to fret about another psychic probe because _seaQuest_ had been ordered to exchange its old missiles for newer, probably more lethal ones. As far as Tim could tell, only Brody, Ford, and the captain were privy to all the details surrounding the exchange. This was just fine with the communications officer. He didn’t need to know anything about new weapons, especially when Dr. Smith hadn’t yet probed him completely enough to guarantee his trustworthi­ness. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know even if he’d been cleared.

            With all the command officers so stressed, everyone became just a little testy. By the time his tense watch was finally over, all Tim wanted to do was collapse. Dr. Smith hadn’t called him to set up an appointment, so he assumed all the anxiety on the boat just meant that she needed more time to prepare. Tim thought it was better for her to be completely recovered. If she couldn’t penetrate his mind with 100% of her faculties, then he wouldn’t have to submit to any more psychic scans or probes.

            It turned out to be just as well they hadn’t tried, because that night, Dr. Smith had her hands full dealing with a medical emergency. Lucas called for help in the middle of the night because something was wrong with Tony. Evidently, Dagwood and Tony had somehow shared the same dream just before Tony started having a sei­zure. Scuttlebutt traveled fast on a submarine, so pretty much all of the bridge crew knew before lunchtime. Tim asked Lucas about it, mostly out of concern for Dagwood. Lucas said that Dr. Smith was very troubled about the whole thing and planned to take both of them to the Chatton Parapsychology Center for some kind of consult.

            Dr. Smith hadn’t suggested he come too, but that wasn’t too surprising. It was one thing to give Wendy—someone he knew and trusted—permis­sion to probe his mind, quite another to allow some stranger to do it. Also, there would probably be dozens if not hundreds of Receivers, and no way to know how many might be more powerful or less ethical than Wendy. Tony and Dagwood didn’t have security codes to steal; he did.

            Tim found himself hoping that he wouldn’t prove stronger than Dr. Smith so no other psych­ics would ever be needed. However, he recog­nized that the important thing was to find his weaknesses and fix them. He just wanted to do his job and not be a liability.

            A few hours after their departure, Dr. Smith contacted _seaQuest_ and asked for a conference with the captain and XO. Lt. O’Neill dutifully no­tified the captain and transferred her call to the ward room. Both Cmdr. Ford and Capt. Bridger were rather put-out when they emerged from tak­ing the call. O’Neill gathered from the subsequent orders that Dr. Smith, Dagwood, and Piccolo were returning and that a couple of psychics were coming back to _seaQuest_ with them.

            Of course, the timing was bad because of the missile operations. O’Neill was very glad he had not been anywhere near the warheads, nor had he been privy to any of the security measures. It had only been luck that Ortiz had been chosen to assist with that task, or perhaps the captain had dis­creetly removed him from consideration because of the conversation they’d had. Since missiles were outside his area of expertise, no one gave it a second thought that he wasn’t participating.

            Now, with psychics coming aboard, the se­crets in his head paled in comparison to those inside Brody’s, Ford’s, and Bridger’s. Not being the prime target lent Tim a measure of re­lief, but he decided it best to avoid sleep while these psychic visitors were aboard, if possible. The bridge was far enough from the guest quarters not to pose a problem, but when he was off duty, he wasn’t comfortable with how close his quarters were to theirs. He made plans to hang out at the moon pool, do his laundry, and take some books to one of the more remote research labs where he could read in peace.

            However, all his plans were put on hold when Piccolo called from the shuttle to declare a medi­cal emergency en route from Chatton to _seaQuest_. Dr. Smith had hit her head when the shuttle en­countered a thermal. Tim relayed the message to Medbay so that medics would be waiting when they docked. It was difficult to stay on the bridge and wait for news, but he would only be in the way if he tried to go near the Launch Bay anyway. Besides, he was on duty and wouldn’t dream of leaving his post without permission.

            Piccolo came up to the bridge soon after they docked. “Doc was running a bunch of tests. He shooed us all out,” Tony said.

            “Is everyone else all right?” Henderson asked.

            “Yeah,” Tony said. He paused a second. “Ya know, I don’t think we hit no thermal.”

            “Um, Tony,” Tim said, “you were the one who said that’s what happened.”

            “I was asleep, but I didn’t feel no bumps or nothin’. That Marshall guy told me what to say. There weren’t no time to argue. I don’t care what his clearance is, I don’t trust Mr. Cowboy Boots.”

            Brody walked in on the conversation just in time to hear the last bit of Tony’s remark. He looked disturbed. “Did you share this with the captain?”

            Piccolo shook his head. “He looked pretty busy.” Clearly, Tony didn’t think his opinion was worth bothering them for, and Tim had to agree. Capt. Bridger was not happy these telepaths were coming in the first place. He had to be suspi­cious now that his chief physician was uncon­scious in Medbay. Unless Tony had some proof, his opinion wasn’t really helpful.

            Brody nodded, but he looked preoccupied. “You’re still on medical leave, seaman. Go ahead and get some shut-eye.”

            Tim looked Tony over. The guy was a maniac on shore leave, but even after a night on the town, he usually looked better than he did right now. “Aye, aye.” Piccolo turned and left the bridge.

            “Okay, people,” Brody said. “We’re all con­cerned about Dr. Smith, but we have a job to do.”

            When the problems were outside _seaQuest_ , everything was so much easier. The submarine and her crew worked together like they were part of each other. The General Quarters klaxon al­ways brought some fear and tension, but it also brought a keen sense of purpose. There was hardly any time left to worry when everyone was focused on the jobs they had to do. No one was even sure there _was_ a threat right now, but if there were, Tim would bet it had something to do with these psychics whose less-than-welcome visit had put everyone on edge. The absence of both Capt. Bridger and Cmdr. Ford on the bridge didn’t help matters either.

            There were routine tasks to do while the _sea­Quest_ glided through the depths of the ocean at a leisurely pace. Yes, it was hard to focus on the mundane right now, but Tim found it prefer­able to being stuck somewhere else on board, trying to stay awake with even less to distract his attention. So he concentrated on his panel and his duties, and tried not to think about Dr. Smith or their psychic visitors.

            It was hard to say how much time passed while engaged in the routine. It could have been hours or merely minutes. But everyone snapped to immediate alert when Cmdr. Ford’s usually calm voice gave orders to contact the UEO and report that _seaQuest_ ’s nuclear ordnance had been com­promised and to clear the seas. The bridge erupted in immediate mayhem, but no one had as much to do as Tim. It fell to him to contact UEO head­quarters and relay the emergency message. His priority one signal was answered by a rear ad­miral, but it wouldn’t be long be­fore he’d have the Secretary General himself on the line, asking questions that Tim didn’t have answers to. He only hoped _seaQuest_ would still be here in another few minutes. Ford would not have given such extreme orders if the situation wasn’t desperate.

            The communications officer had no time to wonder what might be happening. He was far too busy contacting the local navies, coast guards, and any vessel that would answer his hail. Seconds into his eighth repetition of the message, an ex­plosion rocked the entire boat.

            Tim abandoned outside broadcasts and focused instead on listening to damage reports. They still had full power to the bridge; that was a good sign. Henderson confirmed the hull was in­tact. Navigation reported no loss of control. The captain himself called from the missile room, in­stantly boosting morale just by the sound of his voice. He ordered emergency crews, including medics, down to the missile room. There had been damage and injuries and possibly even deaths, but _seaQuest_ was whole and her captain sounded like he would survive. All they could do now was wait to hear casualty reports.

            The Secretary General called next and Tim was infinitely grateful he didn’t have to try to ex­plain anything himself. Capt. Bridger asked him to route the call to Medbay and Tim was very happy to comply. Minutes later, Cmdr. Ford ar­rived on the bridge to give the stand down order.

            After the collective sigh of relief, Ford an­nounced, “Dagwood suffered minor injuries in the blast. Lucas was also in­jured, but it looks like both our people are going to be okay. Dr. Smith is back on duty, so they’re in good hands. Mr. Marshall died in the blast. We were lucky it wasn’t worse. Good job, people.”

            The bridge crew cheered. It fell to Tim to re-contact everyone he’d talked to in the last five minutes and report that the danger had passed. A smile spread over his face as he got back to work. Not long afterward, the other Chatton psychic, Miss Fletcher, boarded her shuttle and returned to the sur­face. Tim was greatly relieved to know that when his watch was over, he’d be able to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

            Wendy spent the better part of a month trying to pick up all the pieces Clay Marshall left in his wake. Dagwood had a few cuts and bruises, but he healed quickly and without any emotional burden. Lucas, on the other hand, had scars much deeper than flesh. Clay didn’t just read his surface thoughts. Lucas fought him with all his might for every one of the five digits in the override code that Clay literally ripped from his mind. All the damage was internal and didn’t show up on any instruments, but that didn’t make it any less real. Wendy knew how it felt because he’d done it to her right before using teleki­nesis to knock her un­conscious on the launch.

            But she didn’t have any deep secrets Clay wanted. She didn’t fight him to guard her mind like Lucas did. And in the aftermath, Lucas tried to pre­tend he was back to normal just as quickly as she seemed to be. “Lucas,” she explained softly. “I’m _not_ back to normal. It still hurts me. But you shouldn’t compare yourself to me any­way. I was mentally pick-pocketed while you were…” she paused to choose her words care­fully, “mind raped.”

            The shocked look on his face affirmed she had his attention.

            “Clay just pulled a few inconsequential thoughts from my mind and shoved my body around. I felt betrayed because we once were close, but he didn’t violate my mind like he did yours. You fought him and that was what hurt you so much. But the delay you caused by fighting him bought us all time. You and Dagwood both might have died if you hadn’t fought.” She almost went so far as to say that he saved the whole boat, but Clay hadn’t really in­tended to set off the ex­plosive to begin with. He just wanted to detach the warhead and extract the blue liquid syntium for his own selfish use. But for all Lucas knew at the time, he might have been saving the entire planet from war.

            “But I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t stop him. What if he had blown up a city?”

            “Lucas, do you blame a woman when she gets raped?”

            He obviously wanted to blame himself, but he would never extend blame to rape victims, es­pe­cially when he was talking to a woman. “Well, no.”

            “This is no different.” Her voice was soft but firm.

            He nodded silently. But getting him to accept that he had been brutally violated didn’t really boost his spirits.

            Days passed and he was still listless. He put up a good front, but his friends could tell he wasn’t quite himself. Tony stopped by Medbay to express con­cern. “He ain’t sleepin’, Doc.”

            Wendy sighed. “I could give him a sleep aid if he wanted it, but he’s got to work through this his own way. How are you doing?” She felt a pang of guilt for not having followed up on him sooner.

            “I’m all right.”

            “How do you feel about developing your psychic senses?”

            He shook his head. “Naw. I had enough of night­mares and seizures and bein’ stuffed in spin­nin’ eggs.”

            She laughed. If she thought he didn’t realize there was more to it than this, she would have ar­gued, but he understood well enough. He just didn’t want any part of it. How could she blame him after how Clay had abused him? She wasn’t sure _she_ wanted any part of her own psychic pow­ers any­more.

            “Hey, Tony, when was the last time you took a swim?”

            “We been too deep to go outside the boat, but I been in the aqua tubes.”

            “Good. I was worried your dream might have scared you off. How about next time you plan to go, you invite Lucas along?”

            “You think a swim might be good for him?”

            “I think you and Darwin would be good for him, but the swim won’t hurt either.”

            “Good idea, Doc. I’ll do that.”

            “Thanks, Tony.”


	11. Chapter 11

            Between concern for Lucas and dealing with her own psychic wounds, Wendy really didn’t think about anything else until Capt. Bridger came by one afternoon.

            “Is this a good time?” he asked from the hatch opening. He’d popped his head inside, but the rest of his body was still in the corridor.

            “Of course. Come in, Captain.”

            He looked around to make sure they were alone, then he shut the hatch. “I came to ask for an update on O’Neill.”

            Wendy blinked. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’ve been so preoc­cupied with Lucas, I haven’t thought about O’Neill in weeks.”

            He nodded. His eyes were understanding even as he continued his mild rebuke. “And O’Neill hasn’t pressed the issue because he knew you’d been traumatized.”

            “I scanned Tim before Tony and Dagwood’s dream, but I wasn’t done with my evaluation.”

            “I’m worried it’s getting obvious he’s been confined. He’s made his own excuses for shore leave, but there have been several times I’ve wanted him on launch missions and passed him over without any perceptible reason. I don’t like how it looks.”

            “I was planning to try a more aggressive at­tack and the lieutenant was willing, but I don’t think I could do it now.”

            “Is there any point anymore? I mean, you’re a trained psychic, but you weren’t immune to Mar­shall’s probes. How is O’Neill any worse off than you or Lucas?”

            She shook her head. “He’s probably stronger than I am right now. His military secrets are better guarded than the gold in Fort Knox.”

            “Really? Well, since I have no intention of making psychic defenses a requirement for service on this boat, I’d like to lift the restrictions we dis­cussed.”

            He had a point. With people like Clay around, no one was safe. It was unfair to single out O’Neill. Wendy felt badly that she hadn’t given it any thought sooner. “Agreed.”

            “How’s Lucas?”

            She sighed. “He’s been violated, Nathan. There’s nothing physically wrong, but this isn’t something you just snap out of. Tony was able to fight back by reaching Dagwood telepathically. That empowered him. Lucas didn’t have that chance.”

            “Would a change of scenery help?”

            “That depends. He’s not ready to go paint the town. He’d pretend to have fun, but he’d be fak­ing it. I wouldn’t discourage him if it was his idea, but pushing him before he’s ready might make matters worse.”

            He shook his head. “Wasn’t what I had in mind. _SeaQuest_ is headed to the Weddell Sea for Morris’s penguin research. There aren’t any colo­nies to look in on, nor are there likely to be any distress calls. Still too cold topside for cargo or tourists. So I borrow Lucas and we run off to my island, spend a week fishing. What do you think—too obvious?”

            Wendy smiled. “Probably, but I don’t think Lucas will balk. Just don’t force him to talk about what happened. He’ll talk when he’s ready.”

            “You’re talking to an ex-hermit. I clam up with the best of ’em.”

            “You know what I mean.”

            “I’m not taking him in order to prod, Doctor. I enjoy his company. Besides, who else would want to be stuck with me for a week?”

            She laughed and allowed a twinkle in her eye. “You might be surprised.”

            Nathan smirked and shook a finger at her. “Fat chance after you lobbied for penguins. You get to stay with the swimming birds.”

            Frank Morris would not be happy if she skipped out just when he needed her most. Be­sides, she’d only get in the way of male bonding if she went. “I’m fine with swimming birds, but how about Darwin? Are you taking him?” The dolphin could get a lot closer to the penguins with a cam­era, and wouldn’t disrupt their natural behaviors as much as a WSKRS would. They were depend­ing on Darwin’s help when they made plans. However, Lucas responded well to time with his “fishfaced” friend, so Wendy was torn.

            The captain furrowed his brows. “I promised Morris that Darwin would help, but if I’m not here…”

            “He responds to commands from other crew members, Captain.”

            “Yes, I think he’d listen to you, Ortiz, even Ford. But how fair is it to ask him to stay and work in the ice while his friends go goof off in the tropics?”

            She patted him on the back. “Why don’t you just leave it up to Darwin? If he decides to go with you, I’m sure Morris will get over it.” He nodded thoughtfully. Wendy couldn’t tell if he really wanted Darwin to come with him or not. With a sly grin, she added, “Just be sure you mention all the coldwater fish he’d be missing.”

            Nathan laughed. “Are you suggesting I bribe my dolphin?”

            “Well, why not? You’ve got warm water and good company on your side. It’s only fair to tell him about the food.”

            He smiled. This confirmed that he was willing to leave Darwin for the benefit of science. “You’re right. And I won’t be surprised if it tips the scales. But I want someone monitoring the area for orca. They’d be looking for seals, but they’d be just as happy to eat a dolphin.”

            “We planned for that. Ortiz will keep the WSKRS at a distance to watch for trouble, while Darwin gets in close to enjoy the buffet and shoot good penguin video.”

            “Don’t expect him to stay out there very long in the freezing water, either.”

            She shook her head. “He’ll be in neoprene from his eyeballs to his flukes, but everyone fig­ures he’s just going to come home when he’s had his fill of fish.”

            “Neoprene?”

            Wendy took three steps and opened a compart­ment. She pulled out a dolphin-shaped garment made of the thick wetsuit material. “Mor­ris’s idea. Caprio did the sewing. But we still don’t know whether Darwin’s fins and flippers will be warm enough.”

            Nathan reached out and took the suit, then turned it over, examining it carefully. There were holes for the flippers, the dorsal fin, and even his blowhole. A long zipper spanned the ventral side. Strap mounts for the camera were sewn on the flanks. All the edges were folded over and seamed for comfort, which also made the improvised garment look very professional. Caprio had even embroidered _Ensign Darwin, seaQuest DSV_ just behind the right flipper opening. A triangular patch with the _seaQuest_ ’s hammerhead emblem was sewn next to it.

            “Ingenious!” Nathan exclaimed. Wendy knew he would encourage Darwin to stay behind now. “Has Darwin seen this yet?”

            She shook her head. “They wanted to get your approval first.”

            “Have Morris and Caprio meet me at the moon pool in half an hour. Darwin should try this out. Swim around to get the feel for it.”

            “I’ll tell them.”

            He kept the odd-shaped garment and hurried out the door. He either muttered or thought rather loudly, “He’s going to love this!”


	12. Chapter 12

            Lt. O’Neill had only been mildly annoyed by his confinement. He’d really only missed one chance for shore leave, and it hadn’t been a port of any particular interest. No one gave his faked headache a second thought. But he’d felt odd every time the captain chose someone else to run communications on a sea crab or pilot a shuttle. He knew it was just his imagination that made him doubt his worth. He had volunteered to con­fine himself in order to protect his security clear­ance. Without that, he wouldn’t be able to do his regular job, and all the little side trips would pale in comparison. Still, he was starting to wonder if he’d forever be a prisoner of his useless thought-projecting “gift”.

            Dr. Smith wasn’t being very helpful in resolv­ing his problem, but he didn’t have the heart to suggest any foray into the psi realm after her ex­perience with that telepathic terrorist. Once she recovered, Lucas would be her top priority. Tim would be first to agree that Lucas’s need out­weighed his. The young computer genius had definitely not been himself since having missile override codes ripped from his mind. Tim thought he might be the one person aboard who could best understand how Lucas felt, but he shied away from suggesting it lest Lucas point out that Tim had given in to torture while he, Lucas, had fought it with every fiber of his strength only to lose. It wouldn’t help Lucas to hear how much Tim wished he could have traded circumstances. Be­sides, Tim didn’t want to dwell on his own failure any longer.

            He’d just have to be patient. Dr. Smith would get around to him when everything else was back to normal. Tim would just think harder about Chi­nese verb conjugations and quit looking out port­holes wistfully when shuttles went by.

            A green light on his communications console told him that the ship’s intercom system was cut­ting in on his headset as well as speakers all over the boat. “Lt. O’Neill to the ward room,” said the captain’s voice.

            Tim flicked a switch that routed his head­set mic into the intercom. “O’Neill. Acknow­l­edged.” He removed his headset and left it on his station before walking briskly off the bridge. After a short ride on the mag-lev, he came to the ward room. He knocked twice.

            “Come,” said Capt. Bridger.

            Tim placed his cap on, then straightened his glasses. He drew a breath and reached for the dial that opened the hatch. The captain stood alone behind the conference table. Tim stepped over the door threshold and saluted.

            The captain returned his salute. “At ease, Lieu­tenant.” He gestured to the chairs. “Have a seat.”

            He sat stiffly. Other than a little gossip in the mess hall, he never did anything remotely against regulations while on board, and he hadn’t been off the boat in weeks. His conscience was clear, but he still always felt a tinge of nervous­ness whenever he was called before a superior officer.

            The captain didn’t make him wonder long. “I’ve spoken to Dr. Smith and she agrees with me that, effective immediately, all your travel restric­tions are hereby revoked.”

            Stunned, Tim stared mutely, eyes wide.

            “I want you to know how much I appreciated you offering to give up your security clearance and your freedom to protect _seaQuest_. I also know that you submitted to some pretty invasive psychic assessments.”

            Tim cleared his throat. “Um, thank you, sir. But I’m a little confused. Dr. Smith said she wasn’t done with her tests yet.”

            Bridger smiled warmly. “Recent events have changed her mind. With people like Clay Marshall around, even our best-trained telepaths are vulner­able. Dr. Smith wasn’t immune herself. I see no reason why you should be penalized any more than anyone else, psychic or not.”

            Tim lowered his voice and cringed, but he had to say it. “She says I mind-scream at her.”

            The captain chuckled. “I think that’s _her_ prob­lem, not yours. Besides, whatever you’re scream­ing must not be important. In her professional opinion, your military secrets are better guarded than the gold in Ft. Knox.”

            “She said that?”

            “Her exact words.” The captain gave him a single pat to the shoulder. “Good work.”

            “I can’t take any credit. I have no idea what I did, or how.”

            “I don’t know a lot about parapsychology, but from what I do know, your mind has set up pro­tections for what needs it.” He stood. The meeting was over.

            Tim followed him toward the door. “She said I built some kind of ‘wall’, but I don’t remember doing it.”

            “Don’t worry about the ‘how’. Important thing is, you’re not leaking any secrets.”

            Just as they reached the door, he had a thought. “Captain, if I’m cleared to leave, would it be possible for me to attend the Far East Linguistics Conference? It’s next week in Sap­poro, Japan. It would be a chance to brush up on my Asian dialects. I mean, unless you need me for Antarctica.” He adjusted his glasses to give his nervous hands something to do. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Communications would be nearly unnecessary while the scientists were counting swimming birds and mapping out feeding grounds. Ice made the whole polar region too dangerous for surface vessels. Still, it was a large favor to ask the UEO to shuttle him off to the opposite side of the globe, even if it was solidly work-related.

            “Linguistics conference, eh?” Capt. Bridger smiled. “I think we can spare you next week. I’ll arrange transportation.”

            “Thank you, sir.”

            The captain was out the door. Tim noticed an odd-shaped piece of neoprene in his hand. The captain caught him looking. He lifted it and grinned like a schoolboy. “Dolphin wetsuit. I’m headed to sea deck for a try-on. Wanna tag along?”

            He nodded. “Yes, sir.” Any excuse to visit Darwin was always welcome, but it was all the better when the captain made a point to in­clude him. The elder wasn’t quite jogging, but he was eager to get to the moon pool. Tim kept pace behind him.

            Sea deck was brimming with activity when they arrived. People were working on projects at the various stations. Frank Morris, who was head of the penguin research project, was chatting with a female member of the science team. The captain approached them. Tim veered off toward the moon pool. There were a couple of humans swimming with Darwin, but Tim couldn’t tell who. He rolled up his sleeves and dunked his hands in the cold salt water.

            When Darwin was alone, he usually greeted anyone who made his presence known, but it would take a lot more than that to attract the dol­phin when he had swimmers in the water to play with. Tim didn’t bother trying. Capt. Bridger would call him shortly and Darwin always came for the captain. Right now, he was busy compli­menting Morris and the female scientist on the design and implementation of the dolphin wetsuit. Tim gathered that her name was Caprio and she had done the actual sewing.

            “Let’s try it out.” Capt. Bridger flipped the switch on the vocorder device, which acted as a translator between human and dolphin. He ap­proached the pool, motioning for Morris and Caprio to join him. Tim sidled away to give them room. The captain slapped the water and spoke into the vocorder: “Darwin.”

            In a few seconds, a dorsal fin broke the sur­face and the dolphin swam rapidly to greet the humans. A few clicks sounded before the vo­corder’s mechanical voice translated. “Bridger swim?”

            “Not today, pal.” The captain rubbed Dar­win’s beak and melon generously. “Hey, you know Caprio and Morris, right?”

            “Morris study swimming birds.”

            Bridger laughed. “Yes, penguins. They swim in very cold water.”

            “Darwin swim with birds and take pictures. Eat good fish.”

            The captain looked left and right at the scien­tists, then back at the dolphin. “I see you’ve al­ready been briefed.”

            Caprio raised a defensive hand. “I had to take a lot of measurements. He hounded me with questions.”

            Bridger directed his attention back to Darwin. “Yes, we’d like you to take pictures of the pen­guins, but you need to wear a wetsuit.” He paused a second, looking around. Lucas had just emerged from the opposite side of the tank, wearing long-sleeved neoprene himself. “Like Lucas. It’ll keep you warm.” The captain held the new suit out over the water.

            “Darwin wear suit like Lucas.”

            Lucas saw the dolphin wetsuit and his eyes lit up. He walked through the water to take it from the captain. “Very cool.”

            He had the zipper down in seconds and moved close to help Darwin into it. A swimmer swam up behind Lucas and watched from a few feet back. Gill openings in the back of the wetsuit gave it away as Piccolo.

            The captain guided Darwin’s dorsal fin through the top slit and Lucas maneuvered flip­pers through the side slits, easing the garment around the marine mammal. Darwin held still just like he did when they mounted his aqualungs. Lu­cas pulled the zipper and stepped away.

            “How does it feel?” Bridger asked.

            “Warm water.”

            Bridger chuckled. “Yes, warm water. You wear it when the water is cold. But look.” He grabbed Lucas’s hand and held it level with Dar­win’s eye. “Lucas’s suit doesn’t cover his hands. Your suit doesn’t cover everything either.” He rubbed the dolphin’s beak, melon, fins, and fluke. “Your exposed parts will still get cold. So don’t get too carried away playing with the swimming birds. Always come back to _seaQuest_ when you get cold.”

            “Swimming birds have Lucas suit?”

            “No. They’re black like a wetsuit, but they have special feathers and blubber that works the same way. They like cold water.” Darwin seemed to accept his answer and didn’t have more ques­tions. Bridger nodded to Lucas and whispered, “Let him go try it out.”

            Lucas backed toward the vocorder. “Darwin, go swim in the wetsuit. Make sure it doesn’t come loose.”

            Darwin swam slowly at first. Tim would have been more concerned if he didn’t know Darwin had plenty of experience with human gadgets al­ready. A wetsuit was lighter and sleeker than the aqualungs he sometimes wore over his blowhole. Surely, the thinner layer of neoprene wouldn’t give him any trouble. Tim lost sight of Darwin in the deeper water of the moon pool. But in a few seconds, Darwin jumped into the air, clearing at least twelve inches, and then landed on his side, splashing everyone.

            Tim backed away and looked down at his soaked uniform. Getting wet was always a hazard down here, but how many people could say they’d been splashed by a dolphin in a wetsuit? Even Morris and Caprio were laughing at their drenched clothes. Capt. Bridger, also quite wet, snickered softly. “I guess that’s his endorsement of your product, Dr. Caprio.”


	13. Chapter 13

            Lucas swam with Darwin and Tony for another hour after the captain left the new wetsuit. Caprio had asked Lucas to help when she took measurements, so it wasn’t a complete surprise to him. Darwin seemed to like wearing it even though the water wasn’t all that cold right now. It was a good thing, because Morris really was counting on Darwin to help with his penguin re­search and Lucas felt it would be inhumane to ask any dolphin to swim in freezing water without some protection, even for lots of yummy fish.

            Tony tapped his shoulder. When Lucas turned to face him, his gilled roomie pointed to his diving watch and jerked his head toward the open part of the pool. Lucas nodded and followed him. When they surfaced, Lucas pulled his rebreather from his mouth.

            Tony, of course, didn’t have to bother with that. He just shook the water from his hair and grinned. “I gotta get ready for my watch.”

            “Yeah, I’m starting to prune up anyway,” Lu­cas said. He swam over to where the captain had left the vocorder. Darwin was right behind him, but Lucas didn’t like to use signs. He leaned close to the device and talked. “Darwin, let’s get that suit off you.”

            The vocorder talked back in the voice Lucas associated with Darwin. “Darwin like Lucas suit.”

            “I know you like it, but remember what the captain said? It’s for when the water is cold. You don’t need to wear it all the time.” Lucas located the zipper pull and tugged it down.

            Tony approached the edge, walking in the waist-deep water and watching his swim partners. He pointed at Darwin. “You got that?”

            Lucas recognized Tony was offering to help. He nodded. “Oh yeah. Go on, get lost.”

            Tony hoisted himself out of the water and sat on the moon pool edge. He peeled the tank-top straps of his suit over his shoulders and let the top part of his bodysuit hang at the waist. He tilted his head to let his ear drain. “Good swim, Luke. Thanks for joinin’ me.”

            It _had_ been a good swim. Lucas had forgotten his problems for the first time in several weeks. “Yeah. Thanks for dragging me down.”

            Tony swiveled on the edge, then jumped off, grabbed a towel, and jogged out the door. Lucas worked Darwin’s wetsuit around the flippers, one at a time, then lifted straight up to remove it. “There ya go, Darwin. We’ll keep the suit safe until we get to Antarctica.”

            “Lucas come to swim with swimming birds?”

            “No, Darwin. Too cold for me, even in a wet­suit. Maybe I’ll come out in the Stinger, if Dr. Morris says it’s okay.” Lucas wasn’t even sure the Stinger would do well in water that cold, but he had a feeling the answer would be no anyhow. Morris already said he didn’t want the WSKRS to get close to his precious penguins because he thought technology would disrupt the natural be­haviors he was trying to observe.

            Lucas shook the dolphin wetsuit and placed it over the edge of the pool, next to the vocorder mic. Darwin nudged him as he kept walking to an empty edge where he could lift himself out. “Are you pushing me out?” Lucas said jokingly.

            “Darwin miss Lucas.”

            “What are you talking about? You swim by my quarters all the time.”

            “Miss Lucas swim.”

            “Yeah, well, I’ve been stupid. I promise I’ll come swimming more, just not in freezing water, okay?”

            Darwin flicked his tail, which Lucas recog­nized as one of his happy expressions. How great would it be to just worry about eating, swimming, and playing? Lucas gave his friend a good rub on the flank before crawling out of the moon pool.

            Capt. Bridger appeared in the doorway. He tossed Lucas a towel. “How did it go with the wetsuit?”

            “He didn’t want to take it off.”

            The captain nodded and chuckled. He crossed the room, reached out, and rubbed Darwin’s mel­on. “Liked the wetsuit, did you?”

            “Yes,” said the vocorder voice. Darwin bobbed his head in a nod at the same time.

            “Good,” the captain said. “That means you’ll wear it when you need to.”

            Lucas couldn’t think of a time when Darwin had ever been reluctant to do anything the captain had asked him to.

            The captain turned to him. “How’re you doin’, kiddo?”

            Lucas didn’t let anyone else call him that, but he didn’t mind it so much from Capt. Bridger. It wasn’t a put-down. If anything, it was just his way of calling himself old, because Lucas was so young by comparison. More than any adult he knew, the captain paid him respect. He valued his input and showed concern for his feelings. And Lucas appreciated it more than words could say. So should he lie to the man he respected like a father?

            Lucas inhaled deeply. He looked up, but didn’t meet the captain’s eyes. “I’ve been better.”

            The captain clapped him on the back lightly. “I know. People here care about you; they just don’t know how to help. Wanna talk about it?”

            Lucas looked around. “Not here.”

            “Okay, how about off the boat?”

            Lucas blinked. “What, like in a shuttle?” He wasn’t actually _afraid_ of smaller subs, but ever since the MR-7 landed him in the middle of Hur­ricane Sheila, he wasn’t all that fond of them ei­ther. He rode them to get from point A to point B, when necessary, but he’d stopped tagging along merely for fun. The Stinger was more his style for kicks.

            The captain chuckled. “I was thinking more like a little R & R next week. Unless you had your heart set on watching penguins?”

            His eyes widened. Of course he didn’t care about penguins, but getting Capt. Bridger off the _seaQuest_ in the middle of a tour just didn’t hap­pen. “Shore leave? You?”

            The captain crossed his arms over his chest. “What, you don’t think they can run this boat without me?” He grinned.

            Lucas knew he’d never suggest leaving if he had the slightest concern there would be any trouble. But all they were going to do was park under some iceberg and inventory a bunch of mono­chrome fowl. Lucas didn’t blame him for looking for any way out of the sheer boredom.

            “No, course not. Just you and me?”

            “We’ll share a launch with O’Neill to Buenos Aires. He’s going to a linguistics conference in Japan, but I thought we’d head to the Caribbean, do some fishing. What d’ya think?”

            Lazing around on an island with Capt. Bridger sounded a lot better than counting penguins, but Lucas wasn’t too keen on a lot of unoccupied time and awkward silence. He wanted to talk a little, yes, but a whole week? Plus, he wasn’t sure whether the captain had ever bothered to get elec­tricity on that island of his. A week without com­puters, video games, or the Internex was almost frightening to consider. Still, he didn’t want to lose the opportunity completely. _Think fast, Lu­cas_. “Did you say Japan? Isn’t there a big hydro­ponics research center outside Tokyo?”

            The captain smirked. “ _You_ want to visit a veg­etable garden?”

            Lucas grinned sheepishly. “Well, I thought I could look in on Kayamota Microchips. A hacker friend keeps bugging me to visit.” He watched the captain for reaction, but his face was unreadable. Lucas hurriedly added, “We could still go fishing, if you want. In addition to or instead of.”

            “It was never about fishing, pal. We can al­ways hit a sushi restaurant if we want fish.”

            “You sure? It’s not that big a de—”

            “I’m sure.” Capt. Bridger smiled and patted his shoulder.

            Lucas released a sigh of relief. There’d still be plenty of time to talk and rest, but they’d have enough distractions that they wouldn’t get bored or on each other’s nerves. He’d do some research and find several diversions they’d both like. This could be fun.


	14. Chapter 14

            Tim was surprised when Capt. Bridger told him that both he and Lucas would be joining him all the way to Tokyo. The captain almost never took R&R during a tour, but if he were going to make an exception, he’d do it for Lucas. Anyone could tell he thought of the young genius like a son. Since Lucas’s parents treated him more like a pest they’d locked away and forgotten, and the captain had lost his own family, it worked out well for both of them.

            The only concern Tim had was being the awk­ward third wheel. They wouldn’t try to exclude him. He knew that. Tim was just a magnet for conversational disaster—the story of his life—eighteen languages and he never knew what to talk about. On the bright side, maybe after the conference, he could add another language to his list of not-fluent-but-somewhat-familiar. That would boost his self-confidence and increase his value to _seaQuest_ at the same time.

            While he waited, he spent a good deal of his off-duty hours checking and upgrading the com systems so communications wouldn’t be any worse off for him being absent while the bridge was practically idle at the South Pole. He left a list of the procedures the other team members could do while he was gone. The day before departure, he made sure all his khaki uniforms were cleaned and pressed. He was going to this conference as a representative of the _seaQuest_ and with Capt. Bridger on leave mere miles away, he didn’t want anything to reflect badly.

            Capt. Bridger decided he would leave the launch in Argentina for the week, so they didn’t need to bring anyone else along to take it back to _seaQuest_. The captain played pilot, but that was all right with Tim. He got to co-pilot and he was going to a conference with plenty of other eggheads. Best of all, he was finally approved to do something other than hide from telepaths.

            Both Bridger and Lucas were dressed in their civvies. Oversized shirts and blue jeans appeared to be all Lucas owned. The computer geek didn’t even dress up for dates or invitations from the Secretary General. He might switch from baseball jerseys to plaid flannel shirts, but that was about the extent of his fashion repertoire.

            Capt. Bridger only looked slightly odd in a loose chambray shirt, Bermuda shorts, and deck shoes. It wasn’t that Tim hadn’t seen him in casual attire before. No matter how many times he saw the captain in civvies, it never failed to strike him as incongruous. Oddly enough, the captain’s dress uniform sent the same message. The _sea­Quest_ jumpsuit, navy khaki’s and even the wet­suits bearing UEO emblems all seemed equally fitting, but Tim always thought Bridger looked distressed when he was trussed up in anything formal. Casual civilian attire, while not appearing uncomfortable, nevertheless served to remind him that the legend was human.

            The UEO provided a C-790 air-trolley from Buenos Aires to Honolulu. Comfortable and fast. Practically everyone crossing the Pacific landed in Hawaii for refueling, but with the huge naval base at Pearl Harbor, it was a hub they couldn’t avoid. The captain said they’d be changing transports for the second leg to Tokyo, but he didn’t say what kind of transport it would be. After landing in the early morning, he went to check the status of their next flight while Tim and Lucas found their lug­gage and then waited in a crowded lounge, stand­ing because there were no seats left.

            When the captain returned, he wasn’t happy. “Looks like the UEO, in its infinite wisdom, for­got to put us on another flight.” From the frustra­tion in his voice, Tim guessed that no one was giving him the respect he deserved, probably be­cause of the way he was dressed.

            Tim almost offered to try himself, but he didn’t dare suggest that his uniform might hold a greater sway than the captain’s name. The _sea­Quest_ was the UEO’s flagship. Could there possi­bly be a single person on the base who didn’t know who Capt. Bridger was?

            “Anything I can do, sir?” he asked.

            The captain flashed that crafty gaze which always reassured Tim that no matter what _sea­Quest_ was up against, Bridger would get them through. “Yes, Mr. O’Neill, I think you can. Isn’t Father Baker stationed here?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “I’d like to pay him a visit.”

            “His office is on the sixth floor of the admin building, east side.”

            The captain picked up his duffel and motioned with his other hand. “Lead on.”

            Someone gave them a lift in an electric utility cart for most of the way, but it wasn’t far from the airfield. As usual, the weather was warm and balmy with trade winds blowing through the palms. It was too bad they didn’t have time to take a little trip to Waikiki Beach, sip some Mai Tais, and enjoy the bikini vista. _You’re not on shore leave, Tim. Remember the linguistics conference_.

            They arrived at the door marked CH Stanley Baker and Tim knocked lightly. “Come on in,” came the muffled voice behind the door. Tim opened it and held it for the captain and Lucas. For a brief second, Tim worried that Father Baker might not recognize the captain in his civvies, which could only serve to further Bridger’s frustrations. However, before Tim could get in the door to help the chaplain make the association, he heard: “Capt. Bridger, what a surprise!”

            “Father Baker,” the captain said. “This is a member of my crew, Lucas Wolenczak.”

            Lucas stepped up and shook hands. “Father.”

            “Timothy, how nice to see you.” Father Baker extended his hand to Tim after he closed the door behind them.

            “I hope we’re not intruding,” the captain said. He wouldn’t realize the chaplain didn’t wear his uniform unless meeting with the brass or con­ducting services. He probably thought Father Baker was off-duty in his Hawaiian print.

            “Not at all. Make yourself at home.”

            Capt. Bridger chuckled. “That’s a dangerous invitation. I don’t know how long we might be stuck here.”

            Lucas gazed over Father Baker’s desk and then leaned into the captain’s ear. He whispered, “Perhaps if I could use the computer…”

            The captain grinned back and winked. “You read my mind, Lucas.” He then turned to the chaplain. “We were supposed to be catching a connection to Japan, Father. But someone has lost our reservation. Would it be all right if Lucas bor­rowed your computer?”

            “Of course,” Father Baker said. He motioned toward his chair. “Please, be my guest.”

            Lucas moved toward the computer with that hungry-for-hacking look in his eyes. Tim figured they’d be booked on the Secretary General’s pri­vate jet within minutes.

            “Now, don’t get our host into any trouble,” Capt. Bridger said as if to a five-year-old. Tim knew the baby-talk was meant to reassure the chaplain.

            Lucas arched a brow. “Understood. Stealth mode.”

            But Father Baker didn’t look alarmed. His eyes darted with fascination.

            The captain was behind Lucas now, crouching to look over his shoulder. “Before you go booking us first-class seats on Air Geisha, I’d like to find out what happened to the military itinerary that was supposedly confirmed.”

            “You think someone scuttled our plans on pur­pose?” Lucas was surprised enough that he unglued his eyes from the computer screen and turned his head to look back at Bridger.

            “I don’t know. But before I go marching into Adm. Overbeck’s office to throw a fit, I’d like to know whether I’ve been set up.” The captain patted Lucas on the back. Complete confidence radiated off his face.

            Lucas turned back to the screen and tapped vigorously at the keyboard. Capt. Bridger watched over his shoulder.

            Father Baker approached Tim. “Did the cap­tain say you’re on your way to Japan?”

            “Yes. I’m attending the Far East Linguistics Conference in Sapporo. Lucas and the captain are going to Tokyo for a little R&R.”

            “Is _seaQuest_ here?”

            He was either implying that they were all so indispensable that shore leave couldn’t happen unless the boat was parked, or he knew Pearl was one of the few locations equipped to berth the _seaQuest_ ’s massive hull. It would be easy enough to deny she was in Pearl, but Tim couldn’t recall the level of secrecy attached to the penguin project. He didn’t think Father Baker was a secu­rity threat, but he didn’t want to appear too chatty right in front of the captain, either.

            Capt. Bridger noticed the hesitation and solved Tim’s dilemma by answering himself. “She’s in Antarctica, Father.”

            The chaplain did an exaggerated shiver. “Brrr. That’s one place I hope I never have to go.”

            “Ocean temperatures don’t vary that much and our hull insulates us pretty well no matter where we happen to be,” Tim said matter-of-factly.

            Father Baker laughed. “Only submariners would be so casual about the weather at the South Pole!”

            “It’s actually very routine,” the captain glanced over the computer monitor, “which is why this was a good time for us to take a little leave.”

            Lucas pointed at the screen. “There’s O’Neill’s original flight.”

            “Jet copter,” the captain mumbled.

            “It was canceled four days ago and the three of us were booked together here.” Lucas pointed again.

            “And that flight was canceled when?”

            “Six hours ago,” Lucas said.

            “So after we left _seaQuest_ …” The captain trailed off, deep in thought.

            “And it wasn’t done from the same location,” Lucas added quietly.

            “Can you pinpoint the computer that can­celed?”

            Lucas flashed a cocky smile. “Both flights were booked from Fort Gore. See that IP signa­ture?”

            The captain’s face was awash in blue light. He nodded.

            “And O’Neill’s first flight cancellation was done there too, see? But the second cancellation wasn’t done there. See how they masked it so that it looks like the reservation never happened? That came from right here.”

            The captain smirked. “You’re telling me Fa­ther Baker cancelled our flight?”

            Tim jerked his head toward the chaplain. It was apparent he’d read the captain’s sarcasm cor­rectly because he grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Yep. It was me. I wanted to see you so badly that I wrecked your plans so you’d come visit me to fix them.”

            The captain looked at him with amusement. “Did O’Neill mention we were coming?”

            Tim felt heat in his cheeks. He hadn’t spoken to Father Baker since he left _seaQuest_ , much less mentioned he would be passing through Pearl. It wasn’t like he’d planned to have any time for a visit.

            Father Baker rose to the occasion. “Not at all. I divined that information. Part of my master con­spiracy.” He puffed out his chest and strutted.

            Lucas butted in, “I never said it was the chap­lain. The IP address looks the same for the first fifteen digits, because it came from the same city, same base, and the same wireless network,” he pointed on the screen again, “but the last three digits are different.”

            “Meaning…?”

            Lucas typed madly and then pointed to the screen. Tim could see a reflection in the office window behind them. He’d called up an architec­tural outline of the building they were in. One of the rooms on the top floor of the schematic was blinking. “That’s where the cancellations were made.”

            The captain stared at the screen a moment, shaking his head. He didn’t look very surprised. “Overbeck.”

            Father Baker’s brows were furrowed. “But why? If the admiral wanted to see you, all he had to do was walk over to the airfield.”

            Capt. Bridger shook his head slowly. “If he wanted to see me, it would only be so he could exercise his control over me and watch me squirm.”

            Lucas spoke softly, almost to himself, “So he expected you to come and ‘throw a fit’, as you said.”

            “Precisely. I rant like a fool and eventually I’m reduced to begging him to accommodate us, or at least O’Neill.” Lucas gave him a blank look. “He’s the only one on official UEO business. I wouldn’t make any insistence for R&R, but I’d damned well fight for my communications officer attending a linguistics conference.”

            “I can book us all out on United,” Lucas said with a smile.

            The captain nodded. “Of course you could, but if the admiral has gone to this much trouble to see me humiliated and I rob him of that pleasure, what happens next? He’ll find out how we made an end-run around him and he’ll ground the flight or who knows what else.”

            “It’s a commercial flight, Captain; he can’t stop it,” Lucas said.

            “Don’t be so sure.”

            Father Baker interjected, “How would he even know before you got to Japan?”

            Lucas sighed heavily. “Payment. The only way to get the UEO to foot the bill is to use our real names.”

            “Right. And the admiral obviously has a com­puter geek helping him with all this. There’d be a flag on our play before we could get off the base.”

            “But we weren’t supposed to figure this out,” Lucas said.

            The captain laughed. “He knew _you_ were with me. Or at least his geek did. If he’s worth any­thing at all, he’d have to know your reputation.”

            Lucas grinned. He typed for a few seconds and then shook his head. “ _She_ is a yeoman with little more than basic computer training. She’s set up a program that flags your name, but not mine or Tim’s.”

            No one spoke while the captain stared into space, weighing his options. He appeared very much as he did when in a tactical situation on _seaQuest_. The only difference was the lack of ten­sion in his face which was present when lives were at stake. “So he’s planned for me talking some sympathetic soul into booking us some other military flight.”

            “Which you would logically try to do since you’d rather avoid the admiral,” Lucas reasoned.

            “And he doesn’t know we have access to a computer. Can you make it look like you’re booking a military flight from the airfield?”

            Lucas’s wide eyes communicated something akin to ‘shall-I-turn-water-to-wine-too?’ but Tim saw him temper his initial reaction quickly. The captain wasn’t computer savvy, and as far as he was concerned, Lucas regularly turned water into wine, submarine fuel, and pure gold. He really didn’t have a clue whether anything he requested was difficult or impossible. It wasn’t like he or­dered the young hacker. He’d just asked what was possible.

            Lucas replied with a voice that was almost apologetic, “Not without some specialized hard­ware, which I doubt the chaplain has lying around.”

            “Mr. O’Neill, how long do you have before the conference?”

            “The opening mixer is at eighteen-thirty on Friday, but it’s already Friday there. The work­shops start on Saturday.”

            “Lucas, what’s available in commercial that will get Mr. O’Neill there in time for the mixer?”

            The teenager clicked away at the keyboard. “There are planes leaving H-N-L almost every hour. However, catching a connection to Sapporo is a little trickier. There are a few more possibili­ties if I route him through Osaka instead of Tokyo.”

            “This is only for the lieutenant, so do what­ever works best for _his_ itinerary.”

            Another smattering of keyboard clicks. “Okay, travel time is roughly five hours, and we want to give him time to catch a taxi to the con­vention. That leaves us these eight options.”

            “What are the latest two?”

            “Sixteen-forty-two on Jal-Ways or seventeen-twelve on All Nippon.”

            “How full is the All Nippon?”

            “There are still twelve seats. Not likely to sell-out at this point.”

            “Good. Book it on stand-by. If he doesn’t show up, the UEO won’t get a bill.”

            Click, click, click. “Done,” Lucas announced.

            The captain turned to Tim. “I’m still going to try to get us all out of here together. Your lan­guage conference is my biggest trump-card with the admiral.” He pointed his finger at Tim, his voice ardent: “However, if all else fails, you have a backup to get you there and I’ll worry about the payment repercussions later, when I’m far away from here. You up for a little playacting?”

            Tim couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, sir.”

            The captain approached the chaplain, his hand extended. “Father, thank you for the use of your computer. If anyone traces Lucas’s hacking, you don’t have to cover for us. I’ll take full responsi­bility.”

            Father Baker shook his hand. “You’re very welcome. Best of luck getting to Japan, but if you and Lucas get stranded here, please come join me for a meal.”

            “I think we may just do that. Thank you.”

            Tim shook the priest’s hand and said good-bye, and then joined his crewmates in the hall.

            The captain led the way to a back staircase, which they descended in silence. Once outside, he explained: “I’m not quite ready to see the admiral yet. He’s my last resort and he knows it. And with the rant I’m planning, I want to be red-in-the-face when I arrive.”

            Lucas asked, “But aren’t you just giving him what he wants?”

            “In a way. If I give him the illusion he’s won, then he’s more likely to give me what _I_ want.”

            “A ride to Tokyo.”

            “Right. He thinks he’s wounding my pride and bringing me down a peg because that’s how he would feel.”

            “But you _shouldn’t_ have to beg him for this.”

            “Which is precisely why I’m not really losing. Who looks more foolish, the lowly captain fight­ing for an approved expenditure that will benefit his entire ship, or the high-and-mighty admiral who’s withholding the peanuts just to boost his own ego?”

            “The admiral,” Lucas said.

            Bridger smiled and nodded. “And if I placate him now—when the stakes are pretty low and I’ve already got a backup plan in place—I might avoid a stickier situation when it really matters.”

            Lucas laughed. “You’re _playing_ him.”

            The captain clapped him on the back. “You betcha.” He glanced at Tim, probably gauging his reaction to this rather insubordinate plan.

            Tim nodded to assure him he was still willing to participate. He wasn’t risking anything but a seat on a commercial flight, but he would risk more if the captain needed it.

            The three of them jogged around the land­scape, carrying their duffels. The morning sun and tropical humidity coated the three of them in a nice sheen of sweat before they re-entered the admin building from the front. They took six flights of stairs, double-time, before the captain looked satisfied with their level of breathlessness and led them to the elevator. Breathing hard, the captain started his pep talk.

            “We’ve just been given the royal run-around, trying to find out what happened to our flight or get something else. We’re not exhausted or dying, but we’re not happy either. Mr. O’Neill, you’re slightly nervous because you’re on a schedule.”

            “Yes, sir.” Tim reached for the comb in his pocket, but paused and looked at the captain. “Should I?”

            “You’re in uniform. Go ahead.”

            Tim combed his hair while the captain contin­ued talking.

            “I admit I’m only dragging you two up there to play up the sympathy card. Let me do all the arguing and, if necessary, butt-kissing.”

            Tim nodded but he really hated to think the captain groveling on his behalf. But this wasn’t about the conference or his traveling arrange­ments. This was the captain’s personal battle with an egotistical admiral who played petty games. Capt. Bridger didn’t like to lose, but if he could win a war by throwing a battle, he’d do it. This wasn’t a surrender or a retreat. This was a feint.

            The elevator doors slid open and Bridger took the lead. Lucas and Tim followed in silence. When they came to the admiral’s office, the cap­tain grabbed the door handle aggressively and barged into the room. “I want to see the admiral, now!” he barked.

            The young female receptionist looked alarmed at first, but Tim saw her eyes travel to the cap­tain’s ID badge, clipped to his chambray shirt pocket. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but he’s busy at the mo—”

            “I don’t care if he’s having tea with Secretary McGath!” He shook a finger in her face. “You tell him Capt. Nathan Bridger is here and that I insist on seeing him immediately.”

            She looked indecisive for a second. While Capt. Bridger was very persuasive, undoubtedly the admiral had prepared her for this and she worked for the higher-ranking officer. “I’ll inform the admiral that you’re here,” she said stiffly.

            “Yes, you do that,” Bridger grumbled.

            The receptionist pressed a button next to a tiny vid-link monitor that sat on the desk. Tim and Lucas exchanged glances and silently took a couple of seats in the reception area.

            The captain turned and growled, “Don’t you two get too comfortable...” When his face was turned exactly opposite of the receptionist’s, he winked at Lucas, then he turned back in her direc­tion to finish in an ominous tone. “We’re _not_ going to be here long.”

            The receptionist had spoken quietly into her vid-link while the captain was apparently scolding his traveling companions. Tim only caught the end of her sentence. “…told him you were busy, but he insists on seeing you.”

            A barely audible, tinny voice said, “Give me fifteen minutes.”

            Bridger leaned over and pressed the transmit­ter button himself. “Not fifteen minutes, Admiral. Now.”


	15. Chapter 15

            Nathan Bridger didn’t sit down. He hovered over the receptionist’s desk, hoping he was making her uncomfortable. This wasn’t her fault; he knew that. But he also knew she could help a captain if she wanted to, as long as that captain didn’t ask her to betray her CO. He wasn’t about to ask this yeoman to do that. No, he planned to stay squeaky clean on this one. He fought when he had to, when it was important, but this was so trivial as to be ludicrous. Of course, the admiral would never be happy unless Nathan _appeared_ to care about the outcome and left sufficiently defeated. He couldn’t make this too easy.

            The door to the admiral’s office opened and the pompous scow-skipper himself appeared. One look at his plastic smile and Nathan knew the man was going to play it dumb. O’Neill jumped to his feet and stood at attention. But predictably, the admiral pretended not to notice. He trained his beady eyes on Nathan.

            “Why, Capt. Bridger, what a _pleasant_ surprise.” The admiral extended his hand.

            Nathan looked at it pointedly and then ignored it. “Surprise? Really? I had a confirmed flight plan for myself and two crewmen and not only are our itineraries gone, but no one can even verify the plans were ever made.”

            “Must be some clerical snafu.”

            _Clerical snafu, my ass_. Nathan scowled at him and then swept his hand sideways toward the steadfast O’Neill. “My communications officer, Lt. O’Neill.”

            The admiral turned his head, a bit too obviously, to the man who’d been standing at attention far longer than necessary. “Oh, didn’t see you there. At ease, Lieutenant.”

            O’Neill relaxed, but he didn’t sit again. He was playing this to the hilt. As if on cue, Lucas made it to his feet beside him. His stance wasn’t anything military, of course, but it did play as respectful. Nathan wanted to wink at him again, but he quashed the impulse in order to stay in character. “And this is my Chief Computer Analyst, Lucas Wolenczak.”

            “Ah yes, the Wonderboy who nearly started an international incident.”

            Nathan rounded on him, putting his body directly in front of Lucas’s to shield him from sight. He shook a forefinger at Overbeck. “Now just a damn minute there. He’s saved my boat, the UEO, not to mention the entire planet several times over. And he did everything in his power to protect that code from a telepath who literally tore it from his mind. Don’t you _dare_ try to pin that on Lucas when the UEO knew about Clay Marshall and didn’t do a damned thing.”

            “Yes, well,” the admiral’s tone was syrupy condescending now. “He wasn’t supposed to have that code to begin with, was he?”

            “That was McGath’s fault! The man couldn’t remember his own override code and emailed it to himself! And Lucas would never have seen it except that his Protection Council _asked him_ to search McGath’s files when he got kidnapped by terrorists! What’s next, you going to condemn the kid for having a photographic memory? McGath admitted he should have had the code changed after the Camp Francis incident, but he didn’t. If you want to blame someone, blame McGath.”

            The admiral gave a cool smile. Evidently, he relished watching Nathan lose his temper. He put up his hands, palms out. “Calm down, Captain. A little jumpy today, are we?”

            Nathan gathered his wits. He hadn’t intended to lose his temper for real, but he didn’t regret it. He couldn’t believe Lucas just stood there and took this in silence. How much damage had been done just having to hear this rehashed? The whole idea of this trip had been to get his mind _off_ of that. With barely suppressed anger, he said, “Let’s continue this in your office, please, Admiral.”

            Overbeck gave a sappy, patronizing smile then cast a glance at his yeoman. “Hold my calls, Betty.”

            _Betty_. He didn’t even have the respect to call her by her rank or at least her surname in front of the captain of the UEO’s flagship. Nathan couldn’t decide who had been more slighted by his flippancy. He tried to catch Lucas’s gaze as he hastily followed the admiral into his office. The teen looked a bit dejected, but when their eyes met, Lucas was the one to wink. _Man, that kid is resilient_.

            The admiral had seated himself at a massive mahogany desk. Behind him stood a picture window with a magnificent view of the lush Hawaiian coastline and the sparkling blue Pacific. He folded his hands and peered down his haughty nose. “So why is it you think the UEO owes you transportation across the globe while you’re on a six-day R&R?”

            _Stay cool_. “I never said the UEO owed _me_ anything, Admiral. My communications officer is attending a linguistics conference, which was sanctioned by the chain of command and judiciously scheduled at a time when he would be least missed on _seaQuest_. The fact that Mr. Wolenczak and I had planned to tag along was mere convenience. I have at least four months of leave accumulated, so what is the harm in taking a few of those days while my boat is parked under the ice to study penguins?”

            “So you agree that the _seaQuest_ is wasting time with this ridiculous penguin project?”

            “I didn’t say that!”

            “Come now, Nate…”

            _Nate?_ He had never been on a first-name basis with the admiral, but not even his most intimate friends called him Nate. He couldn’t tell if Overbeck was trying to get chummy or insult him. He didn’t like either option. “Admiral, the _seaQuest_ is a research vessel and I believe my support of that role is not only well-documented but one of the reasons I was given her command. Just because my presence isn’t required for a particular research project does not mean I think it’s a waste of time.”

            He waited to let his argument set in before continuing. “Forget me and Mr. Wolenczak for now. Is there any good reason to deny Lt. O’Neill a flight to Sapporo?”

            “You mean, other than the fact that he’s a security risk?”

            “He is _not_ a security risk! General Thomas spilled classified codes resulting in the destruction of three of our atmosphere regenerators and he wasn’t even tortured.”

            “Yes, and he turned out to be a murderer.”

            “What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Nathan shook his head. Overbeck was trying to distract him. “My point is that the general gave up codes simply to save himself from the mere _threat_ of harm, and no one questioned his loyalties in the least. But Lt. O’Neill endured torture with a genetic energy weapon and encouraged Cmdr. Ford to blow him out of the water just to protect _seaQuest_. How _dare_ you accuse _my people_ of anything!” He shook his finger at the admiral, dangerously close to violating his personal space.

            Overbeck shrugged. The look on his face was probably meant to convey concern, but it came off as arrogant. “You don’t think it looks suspicious for the captain of our flagship to suddenly and uncharacteristically request shore leave with the last two people who leaked classified codes, and head for the Asian Confederation, where the greatest concentration of our enemies just _happen_ to reside?”

            It wasn’t hard to produce an exasperated sigh. “Japan, Admiral. Last I checked, they were our ally.” This was more than he expected, even from Overbeck. “Look, what do you want from me? You want me to stay here and scrub all the heads on base with my toothbrush? Fine. But give my lieutenant transportation to the conference. I depend on his language skills and this is duty-related.”

            “What about the boy?”

            “He can hang out at Waikiki or surf the North Shore. Hawaii is a vacationer’s paradise. He’ll be fine.”

            “So you’re willing to stay here as long as I send your junior lieutenant to his little geisha party?”

            _Geisha party? Could Overbeck possibly be this dense?_ O’Neill was going to spend five days practicing God-knew-how-many languages, attending immersion seminars, and studying his brains out! But Nathan had already made the case for the conference. He wasn’t going to repeat himself. Although he had every intention of finding a way around it later, he sighed and nodded. “Yes. You win, Admiral.”

            Nathan watched the victorious smile creep over those pompous lips. “I guess this proves you didn’t have any conspiratorial plans brewing, then. Can’t blame someone in my position for making sure.”

            _You just implied I was involved in conspiracy and that my people were traitors. If you think I’m going to forget this, you’re the fool_. Nathan struggled to keep the bitterness from his face as well as his voice. He straightened his back and spoke in a formal tone. “Only someone who had something to hide would resent honest questions from his superiors.” _Not that_ **you** _had any honest questions_.

            “Exactly. And since health regulations have effectively ended the longstanding navy tradition of using toothbrushes on our facilities, I’ve decided to decline your kind offer and let you and the computer whiz take the same plane to Japan.”

            _How very magnanimous of you_. Nathan half-wished to stay and scrub toilets. If any of the other admirals got wind of it (and Lucas would be sure they did), then Overbeck would be the one getting his security clearance checked. But, no. He’d accomplished his goal for now. He’d have to bide his time for payback. With an ingratiating nod and resigned sigh, he said, “Thank you, Admiral.”

            The admiral stood and headed toward the door, extending his arm across Nathan’s shoulders. _Yeah, right. Pat me on the back and we’re all friends again_. Nathan made sure he didn’t turn his head enough for Overbeck to catch a glimpse of his face, because he couldn’t hide his utter disdain while enduring the physical contact.

            Overbeck exited the room first. O’Neill and Lucas both stood again, concern etched clearly on both faces. The admiral waved his hand like some benevolent ruler. “As you were.” He walked to his yeoman’s desk while Nathan gave Lucas an encouraging smile and wink and nodded his approval to Tim. The admiral spoke again, his voice oozing with false generosity, “Betty, dear, be a doll and arrange for these three gentlemen to be on the next available flight to Tokyo.”

            “Yes, sir,” she replied. If she was hiding any disgust, she did it at least as well as Nathan did. She clicked away on her keyboard.

            Lucas walked cautiously to Nathan’s side with O’Neill following. Nathan didn’t have to be psychic to see the hunger in Lucas’s eyes to watch the yeoman work, but the kid restrained himself and didn’t move toward the computer.

            “ _Any_ flight, Admiral?” she asked.

            “I believe that’s what I said. Why? What have you got?”

            She shook her head and her eyes widened. “It’s… it’s a B-29.”

            “You’ve got to be kidding. An antique like that? Can it fly?”

            “Says here that it’s the _Fifi_ and she’s going to Tokyo as a museum gift. Must be because it’s the closest thing to the _Enola Gay_ that the United States is willing to part with.”

            Nathan couldn’t resist. “They’re _flying_ it to Tokyo? Wouldn’t it be better off on an aircraft carrier?”

            The admiral shook his head. “You got me. I’d think the jet fuel alone would be cost-prohibitive.”

            “It’s not a jet. It’s a propeller plane,” Lucas said.

            “It’s a wonder we even _have_ the right fuel for a dinosaur like that,” O’Neill added.

            Nathan glanced at his traveling companions. “Dinosaur or not, it’s big enough for all of us and it’s going to Tokyo. What do you say? Want to ride a piece of history?”

            “If you’re game, I am,” said Lucas.

            O’Neill didn’t look so sure. Nathan couldn’t say he blamed him, but he could always put the lieutenant on the commercial flight once they were out of the admiral’s earshot. The lieutenant managed a tight-lipped nod. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

            The admiral looked amused. “Well, I’ve got to grant you this: the crew of the _seaQuest_ hasn’t lost its spirit of adventure.”

            Nathan couldn’t decide if it was real or faked, but he no longer cared. He just wanted to get out of there. With a few more clicks of the keyboard, Betty the yeoman had their flight confirmed.


	16. Chapter 16

            “Thanks for playing along, Tim, but you don’t have to fly with us,” Capt. Bridger said. They were out of the UEO admin building and headed to­ward Hickam AFB. “You can hop on over to H-N-L and wait for the All Nippon.”

            To say Tim was not keen on flying a propeller plane, let alone one that old, would be an understatement. But Capt. Bridger had gone to an enormous amount of trouble to get them all a flight together and he didn’t have the heart to ab­andon them. Besides, taking the commercial flight meant there would eventually be a bill and he couldn’t bear to think of the captain paying any more hell because of this trip. He and Lucas couldn’t hear all of the conversation between Overbeck and Bridger, but the walls weren’t thick enough to hide raised voices and what they did hear had been painful to listen to. And yet, even after all that, the captain was now as cheer­ful as he’d ever seen him.

            “Thanks, sir, but like you said, how many chances will I get to ride a piece of history?”

            “It _is_ rather irresistible, isn’t it?”

            Tim wasn’t going to answer his rhetorical ques­tion, so he was thankful when Lucas butted in. “Do they name all planes like we name boats? I mean, I never thought about it before, but this is the first plane I’m flying whose name I know.”

            “I don’t know, Lucas,” Bridger replied. “I’m not sure the Air Force bestows command to planes the same way the navy bestows command of ships and submarines. Pilots don’t usually _live_ on their planes either. I suppose we navy men get a lot more per­sonal with our vessels.”

            “Well, we _know_ the Air Force isn’t very good at it,” Lucas said with a smirk.

            “ _Fifi_ ,” Tim interjected with a grin. “Sounds more like a French poodle.”

            “Yeah,” Lucas laughed. “And _Air Force One_ for the President. Not very creative.”

            “All right, you clowns,” Bridger said good-natu­redly. He ruffled Lucas’s hair. “No more cracks about _Fifi_. She’s got a longer service record than the rest of us combined and she’s going to get us where we want to go. Respect your elders.”


	17. Chapter 17

            The B-29 had been out of military service for over half a century, but the government had bought her back from the Commemorative Air Force to present her as a gift to Japan. _Fifi_ had landed without a hitch on Hickam’s longest run­way nine months ago only to hide in a hangar ever since. Air Force Colonel David Black felt sorry for the old girl. Ga­thering dust in a hangar or a Japanese museum just didn’t seem a fitting end. Of course, there wasn’t much else to do with her but to cut her up for scrap. She was too expensive to fly and maintain anymore.

            Col. Black had convinced himself that Gen­eral Denton’s top-secret plans would give _Fifi_ the kind of honorable end she deserved. She’d been waiting all these months for the right moment. It wasn’t hard to make excuses to the museum for a plane her age. Parts had to be custom-built and fewer and fewer mechanics knew how to keep those parts put-together and running. And very few pilots ever bothered training to fly prop planes anymore. Of course, Black could fly her at a moment’s notice, but the museum didn’t need to know that.

            He’d been summoned from Edwards eight hours ago. He waited now, checking over their equipment. The general insisted that all the stan­dard safety gear be aboard and in good condition, to keep suspicion down when it was found in the wreckage. It was Black’s job to be sure the crash left as little evidence behind as possible, but there was no way to predict what might get thrown free or otherwise left unburned.

            The other two men of his hand-picked crew had just arrived. A co-pilot was all he really needed, but the general had deemed it important to have an extra man who could play steward to their ‘special guest’ from the UEO. Col. Black had chosen Klein and Slate carefully, based on flight and paratrooper experience, as well as un­questioning loyalty. Neither of them knew any­thing about the general’s top-secret plans yet, but Black had every confidence they’d follow orders when the time came.

            A beep sounded from his pocket and he re­moved the secured satellite radio and depressed a button. “Black.” He listened intently to General Denton’s instructions, committing them to mem­ory. “Three? Not a problem, sir.” Thirty seconds passed while he listened. “Chicken. Af­firmative.” Four minutes later: “Understood, Gen­eral.” Six seconds after that: “Thank you, sir. See you at the debriefing.”


	18. Chapter 18

            The U.S. military had pretty much adopted the UEO, so that all branches accepted UEO person­nel as their own. Although Hickam was tech­nically an Air Force base, Capt. Bridger, Lt. O’Neill, and even the civilian Mr. Wolenczak were waved through the checkpoint just as easily as through any UEO-controlled entry. Tim appre­ciated this for the vast improvement it was over the old days, when everyone was tense and suspi­cious.

            They were directed to Hangar 18, but the ad­dress turned out to be unnecessary, since _Fifi_ had already made her debut on the tarmac. Yes, she was old, but there was also a certain beauty to her colossal frame. Her body was unpainted, its steel polished to an almost mirror finish. The landing gear looked pristine and all the windows were so clean and scratch-free that they were invisible ex­cept where reflection gave them away.

            Tim and Lucas slowed so that the captain could take the lead as they approached. A man in an air force uniform hurried down the rollaway ramp toward them. He looked at least as old as the captain.

            Capt. Bridger extended his hand. “Col. Black?”

            “That’s me. And you must be Capt. Bridger of the famous _seaQuest_.”

            The two men shook hands. “You’re piloting a pretty famous bird yourself, Colonel.”

            He shrugged. “The _Fifi_? Naw. She’s only fa­mous by association. But she’s a faithful warbird and she’s earned her retirement.”

            “That she has. We’re honored to tag along.” He sidestepped to reveal his companions. “This is my communications officer, Lt. Tim O’Neill, and my Chief Computer Analyst, Lucas Wolenczak.”

            Because he wasn’t UEO or Navy, a salute was optional, but Tim figured if he was going to trust some flyboy with his life and the lives of his friend and captain, then he didn’t dare get stingy with courtesies. He saluted and the colonel was quick to return it.

            With pride beaming in his smile, the colonel swept his arm up the ramp. “Welcome, gentlemen, to the final flight of the only B-29 who can still grace the skies.”

            The captain glanced back and Tim recognized that same gleam in his eyes as he got when they were exploring uncharted trenches or studying marine mammals. They ascended the stairs and entered what Tim could only describe as a time capsule. A few of the instruments had been up­dated, but there was still a dizzying array of me­chanical switches, knobs, dials, and circuit break­ers. Little incandescent bulbs blinked and glowed along the panels, their light harsher than the liquid crystal displays Tim was used to. It didn’t take long for him to recognize the communications station, and he stopped in his tracks to stare at the antique radio with its huge stand-microphone and the heavy brass telegraph paddle. _What must it have been like to depend on all these relics in a combat situation?_

            He felt a tug at his sleeve and realized he’d been gawking. The captain jerked his head toward the passenger area, but he had a sympathetic smile. Lucas, too, had taken his time walking by all the gadgets and gizmos. It struck Tim that for once, Lucas was out of his element, since every­thing was older than he was and nothing was computerized.

            Col. Black and another officer took the two front seats while an officer whose nametag read “Slate” showed them to their seats. Tim wasn’t very familiar with air force ranks or insignia, but his best estimate was that Slate was a major. The seats were obviously a later addition, placed in the cavernous area where he assumed the bombs had originally been stored. Lucas sat next to the wall, followed by the captain in the middle seat, while Tim took the aisle. There were enough empty seats that they all could have taken separate rows had they been inclined, but Tim was glad to have friendly company on the giant bird.

            Maj. Slate lingered over them like a flight attendant, making sure they stowed their duffels properly across the aisle and buckled their seat­belts. He delivered a modified version of the safety speeches given on commercial flights, pointing out where the exits were, explaining how the seat cushions could be used for flotation, and informing them that a life raft was stowed in the aft compartment, per FAA regulations. Looking back, Tim saw the giant wood box stenciled “life raft”. It looked big enough to hold two WSKRS with room to spare, leading him to wonder if the raft was made of real, nonsynthetic rubber, or if it had been updated with vinyl or polyhexarene.

            An airman climbed the ramp outside carrying a huge red cooler of the type people took on camping trips where there was no refrigeration. Maj. Slate excused himself to meet him. The ramp man handed over the cooler and the two evidently exchanged some sort of air force equiv­alent to a smooth sailing farewell. Slate pushed the huge door shut and secured it with a device not unlike the hatch wheels on _seaQuest_. Squeaks and rumbles just outside the door confirmed that the ramp was being rolled away.

            Crews on the ground yelled and the colonel yelled things back at them through his window in the nose. It was all a bunch of pilot-speak, one of the few languages which baffled Tim completely. Finally, the pilot yelled, “Clear left!” One of the massive engines sputtered and halted, shaking the wing and by extension, the fuselage. It stopped and started, going a little longer each time before sputtering itself out. Patiently, and apparently without the slightest surprise, the colonel contin­ued to nudge first one and then another of the giant propellers into continuous rotation. When all four engines purred their high-pitched drone, the three airmen buckled themselves in and started flipping switches. Then the engines roared even louder, drowning out all other sound.

            Slowly at first, the huge craft began to move. The floors and walls vibrated with a loud rattle to join the roar of the engines. The B-29 lumbered along toward the runway. Tim wondered what year shock absorbers had been invented, because it was obvious _Fifi_ didn’t have any. For a mo­ment, he regretted turning down the Air Nippon flight, but it was too late to change his mind now. _Breathe deep and think positive_. He let his head fall back on the seat and closed his eyes.

            After some time taxiing, _Fifi_ stopped moving. The airmen chattered to each other and over the radio. The engine noise was too loud to make out any of their words, but Tim doubted they could be saying anything decipherable anyhow. The human voices stopped and the engine roar gained several octaves. Tim gripped the arms of his seat and held his breath. Shaking and rattling, the plane rolled forward, gaining momentum. Just about the time he thought she would start losing parts from the intense vibrations, _Fifi_ finally became airborne.

            The great bird climbed at a much shallower incline than jets, but the sky was definitely her domain. The noise of the engines and propellers continued, but the shaking and rattling diminished considerably. Tim released his chair arms and opened his eyes. Lucas was still gripping his own arms with white knuckles, but he attempted to fake an _I’m-not-scared_ smile when he saw Tim watch­ing. Capt. Bridger seemed to be the only one enjoying himself, probably because he found his aero-phobic traveling companions amusing.


	19. Chapter 19

            The air force officers were up in the cockpit, doing their pilot thing, when _Fifi_ finally leveled off. The engine noise was loud enough that Tim could just barely hear Lucas, two seats away, but the teen didn’t appear to care Tim was listening as he talked to Bridger.

            “Captain, why did you tell the admiral that hacking Secretary McGath’s email account was the Protection Council’s idea?” Lucas asked.

            “Because that’s what the official record says. Nobody wanted to admit that a hacker on a sub­marine could just pop in and browse around.”

            “But they changed the security after that. It’s as safe as the World Bank now.”

            The captain chuckled. “They didn’t want to admit it was ever vulnerable, nor that a kid single-handedly saved the leader they were supposed to be protecting.”

            Lucas smiled.

            “The Protection Council and Secretary McGath all owe you one, kiddo. Not to mention all the other world leaders you saved from Secre­tary Dre’s clutches a year ago. Don’t you let Adm. Overbeck’s fishing expedition bother you. He was trying to get under _my_ skin.” Bridger pat­ted his chest.

            “I don’t like him, Captain.”

            “Me either, pal.”

            When he was certain they’d finished, Tim ven­tured a question of his own. “Um… Captain? Did you happen to ask about our return flight? They’re not going to put us on the _Spirit of St. Louis_ , are they?”

            Bridger and Lucas both laughed at Tim’s refer­ence to the Lindbergh plane. With a big grin, the captain answered, “The admiral probably would have, but I think it only flies New York to Paris.”

            Tim didn’t mind his nervous inquiry being taken as a joke, but it did unsettle him a little that the captain didn’t seem to have a real answer. He was probably going to have to fight for their re­turn by vid-link and didn’t want to think about it now. Tim only hoped he could call anyone else besides Overbeck, because there was only one thing he dreaded more than flying another relic, and that was being stuck on a supply barge that wouldn’t rendezvous with _seaQuest_ for weeks. He was looking forward to the conference, but he’d already started to get a little homesick for the sub.

            Maj. Slate came back to tell them they could get up if they wanted to stretch their legs or use the lavatory. Tim didn’t feel the need for either, but he got up so the captain wouldn’t have to ask if he wanted to get by. Bridger did leave his seat and made for the cockpit. Tim took a walk to the aft compartment to satisfy his curiosity about the life raft. He lifted the heavy lid of the wooden box to find not only a large bundle made of polyhex­arene, but at least a dozen small fabric bundles which he assumed were parachutes. Just like the raft, these looked completely modern. His curios­ity satisfied, Tim lowered the lid and turned to find Maj. Slate just a foot away, leaning over him.

            His eyes shot daggers and his voice was stern: “Sorry, but I have to ask you not to disturb the safety equipment.”

            Tim’s first inclination was to defend himself from the accusation; he hadn’t touched anything besides the box lid. But the major’s warning gaze precluded any argument. He swallowed his pride. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

            Feeling much like a scolded puppy, Tim re­turned to his seat. The captain had already retaken his seat next to Lucas.

            “What was that about?” the captain asked.

            Tim felt his face heating. “Umm… I just wanted to see if the life raft was as old as the plane… you know, rubber from a tree.”

            Bridger evidently saw no harm in this and nod­ded. Then, his face twisted up in… _embar­rassment?_ Tim couldn’t tell what it was. The captain leaned in to speak. “Tim, I have to apolo­gize. We’re all so used to assuming planes are four to six times faster than ships. But _Fifi_ ’s just barely faster than _seaQuest_. This flight is going to take about fourteen hours.”

            Tim realized he would miss the mixer. For any other kind of gathering, he wouldn’t care, but linguistic mixers were actually fun. You didn’t need social skills. Participants paired up and took turns greeting each other in different languages until someone was stumped. The winner would teach the new greeting and then try to stump someone else. It didn’t require fluency or even a large vocabulary, just phrases like, “Hello, how are you?” and “Fine, thanks.” Tim had been ea­gerly anticipating stumping some of the big shots with the Atlantean he’d learned from Professor Obatu.

            He tried not to let the captain see his disap­pointment. “That’s all right, sir. I’ll still make the first workshop.”

            “I _knew_ I got away from Overbeck too eas­ily,” he berated himself. “He’s probably calling all his cronies to brag.” The captain adopted a deep voice with a mocking tone. “‘Look how I fooled Bridger into gratefully accepting a ride on an anti­que bucket of bolts that will make his lieutenant late to his conference.’” He shook his head.

            Tim managed a tight-lipped smile. “Then the joke’s on the admiral because he thinks spending a little time appreciating history would bother us.”

            Bridger broke out in a grin and gave a back-handed pat to Tim’s shoulder. “Damned straight it is.”

            The captain turned to Lucas. “So how’s this for ‘off the boat’? We have a lot of time to kill. Wanna have that talk?”

            This sounded personal to Tim, so he slipped out of his seat. He’d find his duffel, fish out one of his books, and then sit in one of the other rows.

            Lucas looked at him. “Where you going, Tim?”

            “I thought I’d do some reading, give you guys some privacy.”

            The teen’s eyes peered at him pleadingly. “Would you stay? Please? I mean, you’ll have plenty of time to read later…” he trailed off as if he didn’t know what else to say, but wished he had more compelling arguments.

            Tim stared for a second with his mouth open. This was odd. Lucas wanted _his_ input? It didn’t sound like a language discussion brewing and that was the only subject Tim could fathom that he’d ever know anything more than the teen prodigy. “Sure, Lucas.” He sat back down. “What’s up?”

            The captain turned his head to glance at Tim, then turned it back on Lucas. “You want _me_ to leave you two?” There was no hurt in his voice, like he agreed with Lucas that Tim had something so important to share that he’d gladly get out of the way to facilitate the sharing.

            “No, you can stay, Captain,” Lucas said apolo­getically. “I think I need you both.”

            “Then we’re here for you,” Bridger said gently.

            Tim nodded. He still had no idea what this was about and even less of an idea what he could possibly contribute, but Lucas was a good friend and he’d do whatever he could to help him.

            “I just…” Lucas started and stopped. He took a deep breath. “I’m sick of knowing things that can get people killed. I’ve been lucky twice now, but I feel like my luck’s running out.”

            “Twice?” Tim asked.

            “Sandra Kirby,” Lucas muttered.

            “But you didn’t give them anything!” Bridger protested. “You used that genius of yours to call for help. Nobody died, not even terrorists!”

            “But I almost gave the dead man codes to them,” Lucas said gravely.

            The captain shook his head. “Almost doesn’t count unless it’s a depth charge, pal. You were being _watched_ , and you still had the skill and the _guts_ to do the right thing.”

            “Maybe, but if Sandra wasn’t in on it and they started to cut her fingers off when the chip didn’t do what they wanted, I would have reprogrammed it in a heartbeat. Like I said, I got lucky.”

            “Knowledge is dangerous,” Bridger said. “It always will be. But I don’t think you’re willing to check in for a lobotomy.”

            Tim piped in, “And it’s a two-way street, Lu­cas. Your knowledge does far more good than bad.”

            “That’s right,” the captain added. “Don’t think about how many people you _might_ get killed; think about how many you have _definitely_ saved.”

            It was hard to believe Lucas needed to be re­minded. He had saved _seaQuest_ more times than Tim could count, and plenty of others beyond the boat as well. If anyone ever deserved nomination to Superman status, it was Lucas.

            “Then why do I feel like so much fish poop?”

            Tim couldn’t help smiling at the reference to their old supply officer’s crackpot scheme to sell bio-luminescent fecal pellets as gemstones. None of them would ever forget how much those things stank when their lights went out.

            “Because you care,” Bridger stated simply. “I’d be a whole lot more worried if you didn’t feel anything.”

            “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Tim said. “You’ve always done your best. No one can ask anything more.” He realized he was talking to himself as much as Lucas.

            Lucas looked at Tim with probing blue eyes. His voice lowered. “Did _you_ … beat yourself up?”

            Tim scoffed. “Oh yeah. Big time. But Dr. Smith and Father Baker helped me deal with the guilt.”

            Lucas sighed. “I wish I had your faith.”

            “I’m sure Father Baker would be happy to talk to you, too,” Bridger offered.

            There was a pregnant silence. Tim ventured a guess on what might be troubling him. “Lucas, faith and science are not mutually exclusive. Dr. Westphalen taught me that.”

            The mention of Westphalen caught both men’s at­tention.

            “I miss her,” Lucas said wistfully.

            Tim nodded while the captain spoke: “Me too.”

            Lucas added quickly, “Not that there’s any­thing wrong with Dr. Smith.”

            The captain shook his head. “Wendy wouldn’t take offense to you missing her predecessor. It’s not like she had anything to do with Kristin leav­ing.”

            Lucas nodded and leaned back in his seat. Contemplative silence fell on them all, and Tim was glad there was no Krieg or Piccolo to break the silence just for the sake of breaking it. For at least ten minutes, they listened to the drone of giant propellers and the dull roar of _Fifi_ ’s engines.

            After a while, Tim quietly left his seat, but hovered in the aisle in a crouch. He looked at his traveling companions to make sure they didn’t need him anymore. Lucas was asleep and the captain caught his eye and nodded very slightly. He looked like he was going to take a nap too. The lieutenant found his duffel, grabbed his Pho­netic Japanese handbook, and returned. Japanese was one of his less-fluent languages, so he wanted to brush up. It might come in handy at the airport.

            He sat, poring over the vocabulary lists and verb conjugations, mouthing the words to himself. As usual, he got lost in the text and didn’t notice the passage of time. Without glancing at his watch, he couldn’t say how long Lucas and the captain had slept. It was still light outside, but since they were traveling west, they were set to gain five extra hours of daylight over the course of the trip. It was going to be a very long day.


	20. Chapter 20

            Tim did some calculations utilizing the travel duration the captain had reported coupled with the time zone changes and the departure time from Hickam. He had to rework the addition a couple of times because his math was shaky, but he fi­nally de­cided they would be arriving in Tokyo around twenty hundred hours, local time. It was late autumn in the northern hemisphere, so it would definitely be dark by then. He wondered how hard it would be for him to make the connec­tion to Sapporo. However, Capt. Bridger had got him this far. A little puddle-jump wasn’t worth fretting over. He’d have twelve hours to get there before the workshops started. Plenty of time.

            _Fifi_ hit some turbulence, causing the captain and Lucas to awaken. Tim figured they all could do with some stretching, so he got up and visited the head. Bridger was waiting outside the door when he exited. On his way back to the seats, Tim saw Lucas up in the cockpit, probably engaging the pilots in debate on the finer points of aerody­namic theory or something. Tim stood in the aisle, not eager to sit. He’d have to get up anyway if anyone else wanted to take their seats. Surpri­singly, the teen genius headed back before the captain was done.

            “Hey, Tim, the major said we could help our­selves to drinks.” Lucas pointed toward the galley area where the red cooler had been parked.

            Suddenly thirsty, Tim nodded. “Let’s go!”

            Among the sealed packs of hypercoolant gel, Lucas fished out a can of super-sweetened cola. Tim found some cran-grape juice in a silver pouch. Just as they’d shut the lid and turned to go, the captain appeared outside the lavatory. Lucas held up his can and yelled to be heard over the engines, “You want anything to drink, Captain?”

            He nodded and crossed the compartment. “What do _you_ have?” he asked Lucas, eyeing his can suspi­ciously.

            “Something highly artificial and tooth rot­ting,” he replied with a huge smile.

            The captain chuckled. Tim stepped aside and held the cooler lid up so he could see the choices for himself. After a little searching, he emerged with a bottle of chocolate milk. The three of them headed back to the passenger area.

            Lucas stopped at his duffel to remove a hand-held vidgame unit. It was at least three models be­hind the latest tech, but Tim noticed some after-mar­ket modifications had been made. Capt. Bridger also rummaged in his duffel and pulled out a book on hydroponics and some reading glasses. Armed with beverages and diversions, the three retook their seats and settled in.

            Just about the time Tim was getting fed up with Japanese idioms, Slate wandered back. “Any­one for a bite to eat?”

            Everyone nodded. The major disappeared to­ward the galley. Sounds of rummaging and clink­ing utensils followed. After about ten minutes, he re­turned with a huge tray of food, which Tim passed to the middle, in front of the captain. They had empty seats ahead of them to employ the pull-down tables. Slate handed them three paper plates and some plas­tic forks. “Bon appétit,” he quipped before heading back to the cockpit.

            Lucas and the captain ate tuna salad sand­wiches while Tim ate a green salad. They all wolfed down fresh pineapple, mango, and papaya chunks until there was none left. There were times Tim had diffi­culty finding enough variety in his vegetarian diet, but never when the food came from Hawaii. Lucas grabbed a big bowl that held individual snack bags of macadamia nuts. “Hey, poker chips! How about we play for them?”

            The captain laughed. “Playing for peanuts?”

            Lucas clutched the bowl possessively. “Oh no. These are better. Besides, it’ll pass the time.”

            “I’m in,” Tim said. He wasn’t very good at poker, but Lucas was right. It would be more fun than Japanese idioms.

            The captain shook his head, but his eyes gleamed with that _Now I’ve got you where I want you_ look. “You’re on. Get the cards.”

            “I’ll get mine,” Tim offered. He was on the aisle and planning to get up anyway. The empty food tray had to go back to the galley, so he did that first, then he snagged a deck from his duffel. He kept them stored in there all the time, so he’d always have so­litaire anywhere he went.

            Lucas passed out the nut bags, giving them each five. He set the bowl back down on the cen­ter pull-down table. When the captain shot a questioning look, Lucas tore open a bag of maca­damias and held one of the spherical nuts up. “We have to have a bowl for the kitty or all our bets will roll away.”

            The captain muttered, “Nut case.”

            Tim and Lucas both laughed. Capt. Bridger grinned and waggled his brows. “You two are in trouble now.

            “Just please tell me we’re not going to use crazy rules,” Tim said. “I have to take notes to play with Piccolo. He wins because no one can remember his laundry list.”

            “He doesn’t _always_ win,” Lucas said. Every­body knew Lucas had won the top bunk in their quarters by beating Tony at his own deal.

            Tim rolled his eyes. “You don’t count. You’re a genius.”

            Lucas smirked at Tim.

            Bridger took the cards and started shuffling. “Straight five-card draw. Dealer can choose one wild per hand. Ante is two nuts, maximum, five.”

            Lucas looked dejected. “Just five?”

            The captain held one of his bags by the crimped end. “How many do you think is in here, genius? I’ll have all your nuts in under five mi­nutes unless we set a limit.”

            “Oh ho ho. Do we hear a little braggadocio from the sea dog?” Lucas said playfully.

            “Just the truth.” Bridger’s eyes twinkled with mirth.

            “Okay, enough talk, let’s play,” said Lucas.

            “Two for ante,” said Tim as he dropped two ma­cadamias in the bowl. Lucas and the captain added their nuts to the pot.

            “Deuces wild.” The captain dealt the cards.

            Tim threw out everything but an eight and drew four cards. One of his new cards was a two, so he had a pair of eights. Lucas bet three nuts and the captain raised it two. Tim decided to live dan­gerously and stick it out. Lucas won with two twos and an ace.

            The teen took the bowl, then looked around for someplace to put his winnings. He dumped the bowl onto his paper plate, ignoring the bread dust from his sandwich. Tim made a mental note to check his win­nings for tuna residue before con­suming, that was, if he ever won any to eat.

            Tim dealt the next hand, but he didn’t remem­ber to call anything wild. It hardly made a differ­ence because Capt. Bridger ended up with a nat­ural straight. Tim at least had the sense to fold while the other two kept raising the bets.

            On Lucas’s deal, the teen looked back and forth between his opponents, a single brow raised. “Since we’re playing for macadamias, we’re going to de­signate the king of diamonds our Ka­mehameha. That’s the wild.”

            The captain chuckled. “Just the king of di­amonds?”

            “Yep.” Lucas started dealing.

            Tim had a pair of sixes on the first deal and some­how drew the king of diamonds when he asked for three new cards. Since it was the first good hand he’d had, he bet high. Lucas folded. However, the captain called every raise until all Tim’s nuts were in the pot. Finally, he showed his hand.

            Lucas exclaimed, “Oooo. You’re the _man_.”

            “Yeah, just call me Lt. Kamehameha,” Tim joked. He waited for the captain to show his cards, fully expecting him to win.

            Bridger shook his head. “That beats me.” He tossed his cards, face down.

            The communications officer half-wondered whether the captain threw the game just so they could continue to play. _No, he wouldn’t_. Tim grinned and reached for the bowl. Buoyed by his win, he tried to deepen his voice and decreed in a jesting manner, “Kamehameha say we all eat nut.” It came out more like a bad American-Indian ac­cent from an old cowboy movie.

            Lucas and the captain both laughed. They each took a nut from their stash and raised them to touch like toasting goblets.

            Between eating the winnings and Tim’s less-than-masterful playing, he busted in another half-hour. By the look of things, the captain had won, but Lucas wasn’t about to concede that point. He popped a nut in his mouth and talked around his crunching. “It only _looks_ like you won because you didn’t _eat_ as much as I did.”

            “Fine. We’ll name you the head nut-glutton and me the poker wizard extraordinaire.”

            “So you admit I had more nuts than you be­fore I pigged out, right?”

            “No way, kiddo.” The captain chuckled while he gathered the cards back into the box. He handed the box back to Tim.

            The lieutenant stood and stretched. “I’m headed to the galley. Anyone want a drink refill while I’m up?” After all the salty nuts, they had to be as thirsty as he was.

            “I’ll go with you,” Bridger said. “I need to move.”

            “Yeah, get me another one of these.” Lucas pointed to his empty can.

            “Just what you need—more sugar,” the cap­tain said sarcastically.

            Tim stuffed his cards back in his duffel and then headed to the cooler. Capt. Bridger had al­ready lifted the lid and was evidently mulling over his choices. Tim grabbed Lucas’s cola first, then a bot­tled water for himself. The captain pulled out a juice pouch and then shut the lid.

            “I wonder what the original crews did on these long flights,” Tim said.

            “I’m sure they took turns stretching and visit­ing the head,” Capt. Bridger said. “They’d have to or the tail gunner’s legs would fall asleep.”

            “I guess they didn’t have to be at battle sta­tions for the whole flight.”

            “If I remember my history, they flew so high and fast for their time that they were unmatched.”

            “Kind of like _seaQuest_ is, in her realm, to­day.” Tim’s voice was a little more dreamy than he’d in­tended.

            “You’re right. Except they built a whole fleet of B-29s. _Fifi_ ’s just the last to survive.”

            “Even if they built more DSVs like _seaQuest_ , she’d always be one-of-a-kind.”

            “I couldn’t agree more,” Capt. Bridger said.


	21. Chapter 21

            Col. Black waited until it was nearly sunset before he gathered his team into a huddle in the cockpit. Engine noises assured they couldn’t be overheard and besides, the passengers were all set­tled in their seats. “I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve been pushing _Fifi_ ’s cruise speed a lit­tle higher than normal. It’s time for me to brief you on our _real_ mission,” he said.

            Slate and Klein exchanged glances but didn’t speak.

            “Our passengers are designated omega-level-one threats. We’re here to eliminate those threats.”

            “But one of them is just a kid!” Klein pro­tested.

            Black gave him a stern look. “That _kid_ has hacked the World Bank, NorPac, and Global Def­Sys. He’s snooped around top-secret UEO files and stolen missile launch codes. Kid or not, he’s a liability and we’re not waiting for him to hack American defense systems before we do some­thing about it.”

            Klein nodded. Black studied both his men’s faces. “I’m sorry you weren’t prepared earlier. This has to look like an accident and orchestrating coincidence is a difficult business. _Fifi_ has been waiting nine months for her chance. General Denton and a highly-placed sympathizer inside the UEO planned this operation for one target; we just got lucky enough to kill three birds with one stone.”

            “And _Fifi_ is the stone?”

            Black nodded. “She’s going to make the ulti­mate sacrifice for her country. A much more fit­ting demise than collecting dust in some Japanese museum, don’t you agree?”

            Their nods were emphatic.

            “Slate, you’re going to make them dinner. The chicken has been laced with Videxicone, so don’t sample any while you’re cooking. It’s odorless and tasteless. Grill it up nice. We want them to eat it all. The drug will knock them out so we can get parachutes strapped to their backs, to make it look convincing. Our story will be that _Fifi_ was going down and we all got ready to jump. The UEO captain told us to go ahead while he took care of his own people. We jumped, but unfortunately, they’re going to _chicken_ out.” He sneered a grin at his own ironic joke.

            “But won’t the drug arouse suspicion?”

            “General Denton wants the _Fifi_ to crash on land, preferably on soil of a non-signatory nation, so the UEO won’t have any access to the evi­dence. But even if someone finds a charred bit of bone to test, Videxicone decomposes four hours after contact with stomach acid. It’s untraceable.”

            “So we’re just bailing in the middle of the Pa­cific?”

            “The navy—our own, not the infernal UEO—has a submarine waiting. As long as we hit within a fifty-mile radius of our target coordinates, we’ll be rescued in less than thirty minutes. It’ll be a blazing fireball of glory for the _Fifi_ , and a tragic accident for the traitors. Any questions?”

            Klein and Slate shook their heads.

            “Misgivings or doubts? Speak them now.” This was his standard conclusion to a special ops briefing. Once plans were in motion, no hesitation would be tolerated.

            The two men chorused their answer as one, “Sir, no, sir!”

            “Very well. Slate, work your magic in the gal­ley. Klein, put us on a gradual descent of point-two-five degrees.”

            Black directed his co-pilot’s attention to one of the few navigational upgrades aboard _Fifi_ , a GPS-aided radar map. “Watch my fingers.” On a miniature keyboard, he depressed the b, k, and s keys simultaneously. He whispered, “Black, Klein, Slate,” to aid memorization. A blue field marked with latitude and longitude lines appeared. A white dot blinked on the field and concentric circles radiated outwards in an animated target display. “That’s where we need to hit the water. We can’t be any lower than 8,000 feet when we jump or _Fifi_ won’t make land.”

            He lifted one finger and the target disap­peared. Miles and miles of nothing but ocean with no planes or ships. The sub would be below the surface. It sounded more plausible that they would hear their distress beacon on their sensors and come up for the rescue rather than just happen to be waiting for them.


	22. Chapter 22

            It had been nineteen hours since they left _sea­Quest_ and fatigue was starting to catch up to Tim. He’d been brushing up on Japanese when his trav­eling companions took their naps. Lucas’s game emitted bleeps and electronic ditties, not loud, but they were distracting enough to hinder falling a­sleep. He knew at some point the game noises would just blend into the background with the en­gines and he’d sleep regardless. Either that, or Lu­cas would get bored and look for something else to do. _How long has he been playing that thing anyway?_

            Maj. Slate walked by, presumably on his way to the head. But a minute later, Tim heard clink­ing and scraping from the galley. _Time to eat again already?_ He still felt full from all the maca­damia nuts.

            The sun hung low in the sky, painting the hori­zon orange, red, and pink. Tim walked to the only window in the fuselage and peered out. Still no land in sight, the bright orb reflected off the glassy blue Pacific. Sunsets were one of the few things Tim missed on _seaQuest_. Of course, there were more than enough unique vistas underwater to compen­sate, but he still appreciated the oppor­tunity to enjoy a sunset when he could.

            Capt. Bridger put his book down and joined Tim at the window. He spoke softly so as not to ruin the mood. “Get tired of Japanese, Lieute­nant?”

            “Not really. Just enjoying the sunset.”

            He nodded appreciatively. “I never get tired of sunsets over the sea.”

            Tim sighed. “Me either.”

            Back at their seats, Lucas tore his attention from his game and popped his head up where he could see Tim and Bridger. “Hey, is that dinner I smell?”

            The captain chuckled. “Funny how hungry you are when food isn’t competing with comput­ers.” He headed back toward his seat, Tim fol­lowing.

            “What can I say? I’m a growing boy.”

            “Yeah, remember that the next time I have to drag you to mess hall because you’ve forgotten to eat all day.”

            “That only happened twice,” Lucas protested.

            “Twice?” The captain shook his head. “I think it was a few more times than that.”

            Tim knew it was a _lot_ more times than that, but he wasn’t about to get involved in their good-natured spat. Besides, who was he to talk? He’d skipped meals on numerous occasions when he was im­mersed in a book.

            The three of them tidied up around their seats, disposing of the drink containers and putting away their books and game equipment. If the aroma was any indication, dinner had to be soon. How long could it take to heat vegetables in a microwave and scorch some animal flesh on an electric porta-grill, anyway? It wasn’t like “Chef” Slate could be whip­ping up a soufflé.

            Tim caught the last few rays of the setting sun just as the major showed up with three plates of food, carrying them waiter-style along his arm. They passed a plate to Lucas, then one to the captain, and then Slate left the last one on his tray.

            Tim smiled weakly and said, “Thank you.” He planned to wrap the chicken in a napkin once the danger of offending the cook was past. Airlines usually had special menus for vegetarians, or at the very least, gave you a choice like “Chicken or fish” to which Tim could have politely said, “Neither, thanks.” But he knew this wasn’t a typi­cal flight and he should be happy to get a nice heap of steamed broccoli and rice rather than a dried-out PB&J. He wasn’t really that hungry any­how. He just hoped the meat juices didn’t run into his other foods too much. He grabbed a spoon and started pushing his rice away from the chicken.

            Though he tried to hide it, Lucas must have seen his distress. He reached across the captain’s tray-ta­ble and speared Tim’s chicken with a fork, then quickly retracted his arm and piled the meat atop his own plate.

            Capt. Bridger’s jaw dropped. “Lucas!” he scolded sharply.

            “What?” The teen no doubt felt such a harsh re­sponse was unwarranted.

            Tim spoke up. “It’s all right, Captain. Meat kind of grosses me out.”

            Lucas’s voice had a teasing edge when he added, “You didn’t know Tim was vegetarian?”

            Only slightly appeased, the captain shook his head. “You could have _said_ something first. Maybe given me a chance to get out of your way before you started harpooning.”

            Lucas just shrugged and started shoveling food into his mouth.

            Tim beamed a genuine grin at Lucas and mouthed, “Thanks.” He ate his fill of broccoli and rice, with food left to spare. Lucas ate most of the two chicken breasts, but when it became apparent he wasn’t going to eat it all, the captain speared the re­maining hunk from his plate and snatched it to his own. Tim couldn’t see the captain’s face, but Lu­cas’s dumbfounded reaction to the whole event was priceless.

            Tim was just glad his chicken had provided them all with a small measure of entertainment. He was just about to gather up their plates when Maj. Slate came back and offered to take them. He seemed pleased that everyone had enjoyed his cooking.

            Tim’s mounting fatigue, coupled with a full sto­mach and the lack of vid-game noises made a nap impossible to resist. Since dusk had settled and there didn’t seem to be any reading lights in the passenger area anyway, this was the perfect time to get some sleep. A glance at Lucas and the captain confirmed that they were having the same idea.

            Tim’s last thought before nodding off was the hope that they’d be ready to land when they all woke up.


	23. Chapter 23

            It seemed both an eternity and no time at all when Tim crossed from deep slumber into an ethe­real twilight of semi-consciousness. Someone had grabbed his shirt lapels and was pulling him off his seat. His lethargic body moved in slow motion as his mind perceived something was amiss. Forcing his muscles to move, he pushed open his eyelids. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim cabin lights, but his tired eyes soon focused on a very sur­prised Col. Black star­ing back at him. Tim rea­lized he was no longer sitting, yet his feet still touched the ground. He did two things simulta­neously and without any forethought. He scrambled his legs to try to gain footing and he expressed his utter bewilderment to the man holding him by the shirt: “Hey! What are y—”

            Tim saw the surprise in the colonel’s eyes trans­form into a malicious determination right before a large fist arrived just below his right eye. Realization hit far too late to do anything about it, even had he been in a better position to defend himself. Pain and confusion mingled briefly be­fore darkness closed in.


	24. Chapter 24

            “What the…?” Black rendered the lieutenant unconscious easily enough, but he wasn’t taking any chances he’d come around again. After drop­ping him to the floor, he kicked him in the head twice, the first blow knocking the glasses off his face. Blood ran from the traitor’s mouth and nose, but not enough to kill him before the crash. _Couldn’t have that_. “Poor sap. Hit the bulkhead when _Fifi_ lost control.”

            His subordinates chuckled. Klein joined in with the abuse, delivering a heavy boot to the ab­domen of the sprawled body. Slate kept watch on the other two, but they didn’t show any sign of stirring, even with the commotion. The Videx­icone was working much better on these two than the one in uniform. After everyone was satisfied that the lieutenant was down for good, they pulled the other two passengers from their seats and dragged all three bodies into the aft section.

            The colonel glanced at his watch. They had six minutes to get parachutes strapped to the tar­gets, another three minutes to strap on their own gear, and then disappear. The unexpected glitch of finding someone awake had galvanized them. They’d finish their jobs and be resting on a sub­marine soon. With any luck, they’d be presumed dead for at least a week.


	25. Chapter 25

            Pain spurned Tim to miserable consciousness, but the darkness wouldn’t dissipate, even when he was sure he had his eyes open. He reached in front of his face to see if his hand appeared and saw a small change in the shadows, but he couldn’t make out colors or shapes. _Glasses_. His whole face hurt far too much for him to have noticed their absence, but now he slapped himself in the eye, searching with his hand. The pain in his cheek and jaw spiked at his touch and he groaned. This drew his attention to a mouthful of liquid. His taste buds identified it as blood. Tim spat and felt something solid pass with the blood. He knew instinctively that it was one of his teeth, but he didn’t have time to wonder which one.

            Vibrations on the floor and the roar of engines registered next, followed by awareness of it being cold and windy inside. All at once, he remem­bered. Where he was. What had happened. Who was with… He screamed into the wind, “Cap­tain?” at the same time as he forced himself to sit up. Agonizing pain in his gut slowed his actions, but the pain didn’t matter now. It was hard to breathe. He didn’t have time to wonder whether he had injured a lung or whether it was just thin air. “Lucas?” he yelled as loudly as his diminished breathing allowed.

            No answers.

            Panic set in despite his best military training. Were his friends dead? Did his screaming invite his attacker back to finish the beating he’d some­how survived? Why was it so windy? On his hands and knees, Tim groped in the darkness frantically. His back felt oddly heavy, but it was such a minor concern compared to everything else going on that he didn’t spare any time to consider it. His hands stumbled upon a soft mound and a quick tactile survey revealed it was warm flesh with something hard… _the Naval Academy ring!_ “Captain!” Tim screamed.

            He followed the arm to the neck and then laid his ear to Bridger’s chest. It was higher than Tim expected it to be. He was probably lying on top of some object. The engine noise and howling wind drowned out all other sound, but the chest was warm and it rose and fell in a shallow respiration. Tim felt a weak heartbeat against his ear. _Thank God, he’s alive_. He raised his head, shook the captain’s shoulders, and screamed again: “Capt. Bridger!”

            No response.

            Tim had no way to assess injuries nor any ideas how he could rouse him from unconscious­ness, but the fact he was alive drove him forward with hope. He maneuvered his knees around the limp but living body and groped in the darkness for Lucas, calling his name. A few feet away, Tim’s desperate exploration met with a head of hair that could only belong to the young computer genius. “Luuuucaaaaaas!”

            Scrambling hands discovered the teen was supine with something bulky strapped to his back. At that moment, all three clues came together in his mind. _How did we all get parachutes on?_ Tim lifted a shoulder and pulled it so Lucas was on his side where he could get an ear to his chest. It was harder to feel the rise and fall, but Tim confirmed Lucas was alive. He tried shaking and screaming some more, but he now had little hope that his actions would be successful.

            There was too much evidence to ignore. Ren­dered unconscious and not by accident. Planted parachutes. Cabin pressure compro­mised on a flying relic. _The cockpit!_ He knew he had to get there but he wasn’t even sure which direction it was. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He drew a deep breath and prayed as fast as he could think.

            He didn’t remember consciously closing his eyes to pray, but when he finished praying and opened them, he discovered that it wasn’t as pro­foundly dark as he thought. Faint moonlight shone through that small window in the fore section of the craft and also through a wide-open door be­hind him. That was why it was so windy. He saw the subtle difference in shadows that revealed the bulkhead between where he knelt and his goal.

            He pushed off from the floor and stumbled through the darkness, one hand out in front of him and one clutching his gut. He winced and groaned at every step, but he ignored the pain. When he reached the cockpit, he wasn’t surprised to find it deserted. Why would the flyboys stick around and not close that aft door? Tim launched himself into the communications station, squinting at the pan­els. The moonlight was a little stronger here since it shone through the windows in the nose, but it was by no means light enough to see tiny dials and gauges, now unlit. What the moonlight did illuminate was too fuzzy for Tim to see without his glasses.

            _Power. I have to get power to the radio_. He started groping over the panel with both hands, flipping every switch he could find, hoping one would turn the lights back on. But the lights were not just turned off. He soon cut himself on tiny shards of broken light bulbs. Furthermore, the metal console had huge indentations in it, like it had been sabotaged with a sledgehammer. He found the headset and crammed it on his head, but the lack of static just added to his distress. Still, he couldn’t help gasping out, “Mayday, mayday,” into the big stand-microphone just in case. But it was dead.

            He stared out the windows. Besides the blurry half-moon, he saw nothing at all. No clue whether he was above land or sea, nor even a hint how close they were to hitting whatever was beneath them. _Think, Tim, think_.

            He could sit in the pilot’s seat and wait. With an insane amount of luck, he might find a city with lights. With enough light, he might be able to see well enough to… _Who am I kidding? Even with my glasses, I couldn’t land a plane without someone telling me what to do!_ And how would he find a runway? No, landing the plane was sui­cide.

            For a split-second, he considered just accept­ing death. He’d been close to it before and he wasn’t afraid of death, per se, just what had to happen to his body to get there. But in the next millisecond, he remembered that he wasn’t the only one to consider. Capt. Bridger was des­perately needed. The _seaQuest_ needed him; the UEO needed him; heck, the whole world needed him. And as for Lucas, how monumentally tragic would it be for the world to lose talent like his at such a young age? He was destined for greatness, not some crash and burn.

            As long as there was breath in him, Tim would not quit on his friends. He didn’t know how, but he was damn well going to try. A plan hatched in his head and started to grow. But for any chance at success, he would need some time. Tim prayed for wisdom even as he surveyed the cockpit.

            _If only I knew how much time we have…_ He tore the useless headset off his head and left the radio station for the pilot’s seat. _Where is the alti­meter?_ Would he be able to see it in the dark, without his glasses? Would knowing the altitude really help him if he didn’t know their rate of des­cent? Wait, how did he know they were descend­ing?

            He couldn’t say how, but he knew it. And whether by psychic means or some unknown sense of position, he didn’t know, nor care. De­scent was bad, even if it was gradual. He had to stop it somehow.

            But knowing what needed to happen and mak­ing it occur were two different matters entirely. His knowledge of aviation could fit in a thimble. Just then, one of the gauges blinked. It wasn’t staying lit, but the light fizzled in and out inter­mittently. He tried focusing at several different distances, but focus wasn’t going to happen with­out glasses. However, even fuzzy, he recognized the blinking gauge as an attitude indicator because launch shuttles had a very similar device. He found the optimal distance with the least fuzziness and then waited for the light to cut in. Impatience spurred him to punch the panel and the jarring produced a couple of blinks. Though it was blurry, he confirmed that the plane was indeed nose-down, though only slightly. He knew how to level off a shuttle. How much harder could it be to level off a plane?

            Shuttles had joysticks, but this plane had a yoke. Every airplane disaster movie Tim had ever seen had suggested that the function of these con­trols was similar. _Please, let this be the right thing to do_. Tim reached out with shaking hands and grabbed the yoke. He drew a deep breath and pulled back slowly. As soon as he felt the resis­tance that meant the control had engaged (or so he assumed from his shuttle experience), he let go. The plane changed its attitude—not much, but Tim felt it the same way he felt it when _seaQuest_ leveled off from a shallow dive.

            He squinted at the indicator again. The blurry plane silhouette bobbed up and down between the horizon line and the blue blur above it. They were either flying level or ascending. Tim breathed a sigh of relief. Now all he had to worry about was whether they’d run out of fuel or have some other problem before he could finish what he had to do, or before _Fifi_ slammed into Mt. Fuji or some other tall object. The altimeter was still too dark and fuzzy to see, so he had no idea how high they were. For that matter, he didn’t know how high he’d need to climb to clear the mountain anyway.

            Since there was nothing he could do, he de­cided not to worry about it. He’d done what he needed to gain some time. Now he had to make use of it.

            Tim left the cockpit and made his way back to Lucas and the captain. He tried again to rouse his companions, to no avail. He figured anyone who’d plant parachutes on crash victims in order to make a murder look like an accident would probably use real, working models, or what was the point? So they all had chutes, presumably in working order.

            But how were Lucas and Capt. Bridger going to pull their cords when they were unconscious? And what would happen after that? Unless they had never been on the correct course to begin with, it was most likely they were still over the Pacific Ocean.

            _The life raft_. Tim stumbled around in the dark until he found the big wood box. He pulled the lid off and yanked several parachutes off the top, throwing them aside. The cuts on his hands stung with every contact, but he had to ignore it. When his hands hit polyhexarene, he felt for the edges of the large bundle until he could get his fingers un­derneath on both sides. It was enormous. With his arms stretched about a meter apart, he pulled up. His first attempt didn’t even budge it. He tried again, groaning with effort. He moved it that time, but it was too heavy to clear the top of the box. His gut burned from the muscle strain and Tim collapsed, his armpits impacting the box edge. He cried out in pain and frustration, gasping for breath. Where was Dagwood when you needed him?

            The box front wobbled as Tim’s body shook. Could it be possible the box was original equipment? He let go of the raft, grabbed the top of the box edge, and yanked with all his strength. Crack! He couldn’t tell if he’d broken rotted wood or if he’d pulled out the nails holding the box together, but it didn’t matter; it came apart. Piece by piece, he threw the wood aside until the front was gone and he could get the heap of densely packed poly­hexarene clear. His fingers felt raw from tearing at the wood, but it just added to the list of injuries that wouldn’t amount to anything if he didn’t fig­ure out some way to save their lives.

            Tim grabbed the raft again and yanked it for­ward. It slid out roughly. He pushed it toward the open door and left it just short of the threshold. He’d been thinking about the pull-cord problem while tearing the box apart. There was only one solution. They all had to leave the _Fifi_ together. If he held onto his friends, he’d be able to pull all their cords. The only trouble was, once chutes were deployed, they would be separated, and then what would happen when unconscious bodies fi­nally hit the ocean? Unless their parachutes had life-vests built in, Tim knew the captain and Lu­cas would drown.

            He looked down at his chest in the dark. His unaided eyes couldn’t focus on the shadows well enough to discern shapes. He patted his chest, but his hands were too torn up from broken light bulbs and box splinters to feel anything but pain. He couldn’t tell if there were life-vests built into the chutes or not. Did he dare assume that just be­cause the chutes _looked_ modern when he snuck that peek a lifetime ago, that they had all the latest safety features, specifically auto-inflate? He sat for several long moments trying to think of a bet­ter idea, trying to figure out how he could attach a seat cushion so that they’d float for sure.

            But try as he might, he couldn’t think of any way to give his friends any better chance at sur­viving. All he knew was that they couldn’t stay aboard the doomed B-29 much longer. If _Fifi_ hit turbulence or started a nosedive, Tim wouldn’t be able to keep them all together and his unconscious friends would have no way to open their para­chutes at all.

            He was taking a huge risk with their lives and he hated that idea. But not taking any action at all was an even greater risk. He scrambled toward the unconscious Lucas and dragged him to the door­way, head first, leaving him right next to the raft. Tim went back for the captain and pulled him to­ward the door as well. The wind rushed and swirled, freezing Tim’s face and arms. At least the cold dulled the pain of his injuries to a tolerable level.

            He scrambled to the life raft, sat just short of it, and pushed with both his feet. It slid out the open door and disappeared. He positioned himself backwards between his friends and pulled Bridger’s torso up into a precarious semi-sitting. He did the same with Lucas on the other side. Then he placed one arm under the nearest armpit of each and drew them towards his own torso. When they were as close as he could pull them, he gripped their backs. Now holding a three-way bear hug with two lolling heads, he pushed with his feet and scooted backwards toward the door, grunting and panting as he went.

            When he was certain that the next scoot would send them over the edge and into the dark abyss, he paused. He was shaking from exhaus­tion, cold, and fear, but he knew what he had to do. The clock was ticking now because the life raft was already gone. Tim closed his eyes, whis­pered a rushed “Hail Mary”, and then pushed off with his feet, launching himself and his two friends into free fall.


	26. Chapter 26

            Wind rushed all around and they tumbled into the night, legs and heads askew but their torsos squeezed tightly together by Tim’s death grip.  His mind was awhirl with a thousand problems, not the least of which was deciding when to open their parachutes. Even with the benefit of moon­light unhindered by walls, Tim couldn’t see the ground, but the rushing wind convinced him that wherever the ground might be, it was approaching fast. If he was going to err on timing, it could only be worse to be too late than too early.

            He decided Lucas should be first. He was the youngest and he was civilian. Lucas would never claim either condition warranted him any special treatment, but unlike the last time he’d been in a perilous situation with the teen, Tim was calling the shots here. In his mind, Lucas’s status put him at the top of the priority list, even above the cap­tain. He had no doubt that Bridger would agree. Tim loosened his grip and worked his hand around Lucas’s drooping form. He lost contact for a second, but the body didn’t drift too far and Tim was able to grab his arm. He hooked one of his legs around Lucas’s to keep him from drifting while he maneuvered his hand around to the front.

            Although the moonlight didn’t illuminate what­ever was below very well, it did help Tim see Lucas’s parachute much better. Everything was still fuzzy without glasses, but the pull-cord han­dle was large and bright orange against the off-white of the rest of the chute. Holding with his leg, he let go of the arm, grabbed the hard plastic handle, and tugged it hard.

            A soft crack like the sound of a mainsail un­furling sounded as an invisible force ripped Lucas out of his leg-hold. Tim felt a mixture of relief and anxiety as he surrendered his friend to the dark and wind. At least the chute worked and the kid wouldn’t die of impact. He’d worry about drowning later. There was no time now.

            With an extra hand free, it was much easier to pull Capt. Bridger’s chute release and send him up and away. Finally alone, Tim pulled his own cord. The straps jerked hard against his shoulders and hips, and he felt the sudden deceleration as the chute rippled and filled with air. With the wind no longer howling, he thought he heard _Fifi_ ’s props droning somewhere above him, but he couldn’t begin to tell how far away or which direction she was headed. He hoped she wouldn’t hit anyone on the ground when she crashed.

            Tim scanned the space below. He still couldn’t tell whether he would hit water or land. If there were any lights below, they were too dim to be seen from this altitude. A large gray blur caught his eye, _probably one of the other chutes_. Its size encouraged him; it must be close. He mem­o­rized its position and searched the darkness for the other one. He couldn’t find it. His first in­clination was to assume Lucas had hit water and without flotation or consciousness, sank. _No! I have to think positive. Maybe he’s behind me or maybe he’s floating but the chute sank._ If it were underwater, it wouldn’t reflect the moonlight.

            He tried to be optimistic, but his inability to find the second chute or anything that could pos­sibly be the life raft didn’t help his outlook. _Save your energy, Tim. If that’s water below, you’re going to have to swim to the body you_ can _find_. After all, saving one of them was better than nei­ther, and he couldn’t be positive the one he saw wasn’t Lucas anyway. He found himself anxious to be done with the descent. He couldn’t _do_ any­thing while he was falling, and the fact that the chute had slowed his plummet was both comfort­ing and frustrating at the same time.

            His face was starting to thaw out, since he was no longer hurtling head-first through the air at thirty-two feet per second. This was not a good thing. Every new heartbeat brought more pain to his cheek and jaw until he thought the whole area would explode. And just when he felt over­whelmed by the throbbing pain his face, his hands started to regain feeling too. _Great, just perfect._           

            He tried not to think about it. He scanned the deep darkness that enveloped him all around. If not for the fact he could still make out the blurry gray phantasm of the other chute, he’d have won­dered whether his eyes were open at all. His first perceptions of light beyond the chute were so small and flickering that he assumed them im­pulses of his retina, like seeing stars after being hit in the head. And since his head had most defi­nitely been hit, he paid it little heed. But when it kept happening and with greater frequency, he finally decided it was no trick of the eye. It had to be moonlight reflected off the crests of swells.

            Just as he started to accept that he was going down in the ocean, he plunged feet first into frigid water. Shock made him gasp for air, but his head submerged in mid-breath. Before he realized what happened, he felt the downward motion halt and reverse immediately. Sputtering salt water, he broke the surface and looked down to find that his chute did indeed have a built-in life vest with auto-inflate. Relief for his companions buoyed his heart like the two air-filled chambers buoyed his chest.

            Tim fumbled around the riggings, hoping to locate the parachute release. The fabric had al­ready started to sink. He knew it wasn’t heavy enough to pull him under, but it would be very difficult to swim with it still attached. After what seemed five minutes of groping around in freezing water, he growled in frustration. Those stupid safety speeches always talked about using the seat cushions as flotation devices, but why didn’t they ever mention how to remove the parachute that acted as an anchor when one hit the water?

            He was beginning to think he’d have to swim with the thing still dragging when he finally found a side-release buckle just below his ribs. It hurt his fingers to squeeze the mechanism, but he felt the weight shift to the other side when it clicked open. He released the second one and his whole body shot up another six inches. Free of his anchor, he swam hard in his best guess of the direction he’d seen the other chute.

            After the first few strokes, he kicked his shoes off. He considered dropping his heavy, wet trous­ers as well, but decided against it. If he was in the raft when the sun came up, he’d be vulnerable to sunburn, not to mention embarrassment. Thanks to all the time he’d spent in his diving class, he was doing well despite the extra drag from the pants.

            It wasn’t long before he was breathing hard. He could see a tiny bump in the water but it didn’t seem to be growing any bigger as he kicked fu­riously in its direction. It worried Tim that the water was so cold. He was moving every muscle he had and he felt the bite. How much worse would it be for bodies that were not moving at all? The apprehension spurred him on faster.

            It had probably been no more than fifteen min­utes of full-out swimming, but it felt like hours. Eventually, he reached the bump that moonlight revealed to be Capt. Bridger’s head. At least his life vest had kept him face up. Tim re­leased his chute even as he called, “Captain!” but the body remained still. His fingers were too numb to feel a pulse or detect warmth, so he pulled the captain’s mouth and nose toward his ear and listened. His breathing was slow and shallow, but he was breathing nonetheless. If only Tim could find a way to warm him up…

            And where was Lucas? How stupid had it been to deploy his chute first? It had only put him further away from the one person who could pull him out of the water. Of course, the whole endea­vor was a moot point without the life raft and Tim had shoved that out far in advance of them all. It would be a miracle to find it now.

            As if in answer to his thoughts, Tim saw something large and bright orange on the crest of a nearby swell. _No way. I’ve got to be hallucinat­ing_. He towed the captain with a lifeguard’s hold toward the object. It wasn’t as hard as it would have been without them both wearing life vests, but it was still extra weight and Tim was starting to lose steam. Yet, even tired, he swam as fast as he could, knowing he still had to find Lucas.

            It wasn’t long before the current swept the large orange blur right into their path. It was in­deed the life raft, and a huge one at that. Tim fig­ured at least twelve men could fit on it. He tried pushing the captain up from the outside, but he couldn’t clear the tall sides of the huge inflatable. So he hauled himself up into it first and then reached down and pulled the captain up. He was huffing and puffing from the exertion, but he felt exhilarated once the job was done. The air was cold, but not nearly as cold as the water. Body heat wouldn’t be lost as fast now that he wasn’t submerged.

            Tim felt another pang of guilt for Lucas. The kid was out there somewhere, unconscious and freezing and he was here resting on a life raft. Tim stood carefully on the raft floor and surveyed the sea around them. It was still pitch black in every direction with nothing but a reflected gleam of moonlight on a swell crest every now and then. It would be counterproductive to set out blindly without having a target. If only he had a flash­light. _The survival kit_. This was a modern raft. He’d known that from the moment he’d seen poly­hexarene. It had fallen probably thousands of feet without a parachute, plunged into the ocean, and then inflated automatically. Life rafts usually had provisions and supplies. He just had to find them.

            He groped in the dark, feeling with his left hand, since he hadn’t swept it over the light bulb shards nearly as heavily as his right. It was still full of splinters and numbly cold, but he could sense the difference between smooth and bumpy, and that was all that mattered. The raft was oblong and along one of the shorter sides, Tim found a zipper set into the inside wall. He fumbled with it for a second, his left hand being both injured and not his dominant. But the zipper slid a good two feet with the most satisfying trill of plastic Tim could conceive.

            He used both hands to explore inside and the first object he grasped was the one he wanted the most: a huge halogen flashlight. “Yes!” he yelled into the darkness. He flipped the switch and so much light poured out that it hurt his eyes. He shone it first on the captain’s unconscious body. Tim still couldn’t focus on anything, but the pale­ness of his face and the blue tinge that rested in­side the gray of his beard sent Tim’s heart into his feet. Blue lips were never a good sign. Was there anything in that survival kit to help?

            With the flashlight now illuminating the kit’s contents, it was much better, but he still couldn’t make out printed labels nor always discern what an object was with his blurred vision. He rum­maged quickly, ignoring anything he couldn’t identify. A flash of silver caught his eye and he pulled it out. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a food pack of some sort. He tossed it back in the kit and continued rifling through the con­tents.

            He finally found what he wanted at the bot­tom of the compartment. It was shiny silver, but supple and larger than the food pack. Tim ripped open the clear plastic cover and removed a mylar blanket. He intended to wrap the captain in it as he was, but the wet clothes struck Tim as inter­fering with the goal. He set the flashlight aside so that it only lit the captain obliquely. He cringed to himself and whispered, “Sorry, sir, but it’s neces­sary.”

            Tim stripped first the life vest and then the clothes from Bridger’s limp body, but left his briefs intact. That tiny bit of wet fabric couldn’t possibly be worth sabotaging the man’s dignity. He threw the wet clothes in the far end of the ob­long raft and wrapped the captain in mylar, tuck­ing the sides under him so that he looked like a big silver mummy. He still looked cold and frail, lying there alone in the dark, but Tim had done the best he could and now he had to concentrate on finding Lucas.

            He grabbed the flashlight and stood again, shining the light out on the gently rolling sea. The halogen was bright and strong, but the depth of the darkness swallowed up its beam. Tim turned steadily, shining the light outward, inspecting every­thing under illumination before moving on. He’d covered about 270 degrees when he saw it. He couldn’t judge distance without glasses, but the size of the blur led Tim to guess that Lucas was no further than 100 yards away.

            He considered his options. It should be at least as fast to pull or push the raft _to_ Lucas as to swim out to him alone and drag him back to it. The prospect of diving back into the cold water wasn’t exactly thrilling, but getting to the teen was para­mount and he would swim if it was the fastest way. The only question was whether there was anything faster.

            He dared not hope for an outboard motor, though the thought did cross his mind. They made them small enough but probably not able to with­stand the impact from falling out of an airplane. Besides, there’d be no way to keep fuel. Sails would be nice. Too bad he had already wasted two parachutes worth of fabric that might have made it possible. If it was daytime and Tim traded places with Lucas, the genius would surely improvise some kind of solar-powered paddlewheel. Alas, it was the middle of the night and he wasn’t Lucas, but Tim.

            However, the paddlewheel fantasy suggested something simpler. What about a regular paddle he could row with? He’d already been through the entire survival kit without seeing anything long enough to qualify. The uninflated raft had been too large without adding oars. Tim couldn’t blame the manufacturers for leaving them out. Just as he’d consigned himself to diving in, he remem­bered the frying pan. He lowered himself from standing and crawled to the survival kit.

            The pan wasn’t very big—you couldn’t cook more than two eggs in it without breaking yolks—but it wasn’t much smaller than an oar. It was cast all in one piece, so Tim wasn’t worried that the handle would detach, however, with the state of his hands and fingers, he could easily imagine fumbling it and losing it to the depths. That was a risk he didn’t want to take. They might need to row more and they might need to cook. So he cut a piece of rope, threaded it through the panhandle, and tied a knot just tight enough for him to get his wrist inside.

            Ideas had been hatched and discarded over the space of seconds. Finding and safeguarding the pan took a minute, but it was time invested toward getting to Lucas as quickly as possible. Tim crossed the raft to the side opposite the survival kit. He knelt with his waist resting on the inflated side and most of his chest and arms extended over the water. He aimed the flashlight one last time to be sure of his direction, then laid it safely at his knees while he dug into the ocean with the frying pan. He pulled straight back on his makeshift oar and felt the water move beneath him. Again and again, he dug and pulled, shifting from a single hand to both within the first few tries.

            He didn’t count his strokes, but at some point after ten or twelve, he paused to pull out the flashlight. The raft continued to glide on momen­tum and when he held the light up, he was sur­prised at his progress. Surely the same current that had brought the raft into his path was now aiding his journey toward Lucas. The teen wasn’t mov­ing, but Tim tried not to let that disturb him. _He’s just unconscious like the captain. Sleeping, not dead_. “Lucas!” Tim cried. If only the kid would move so he wouldn’t freeze, or just stir so Tim would know he was okay.

            But there was no movement beyond the gentle bobbing with the swells. Tim set the flashlight down again and threw his strength into his double-handed rowing. His arms and back ached with every thrust and he wished he’d spent more time in the _seaQuest_ gym. Cmdr. Ford wouldn’t even be breaking a sweat yet. For that matter, Miguel would be quite welcome to show up right now and put his enviable pecs to good use.

            He realized dejectedly that no one would be showing up to help. No one knew they were in trouble. _Fifi_ was probably still airborne and they weren’t even missing yet. After the crash, how long would it take before anyone would figure out they hadn’t been aboard? And how would anyone guess where, along the several-thousand-mile flight plan, the three lone passengers had bailed out?

            Tim shook his head to clear the worries. Noth­ing mattered now except getting to Lucas and re­moving him from the water. _Please be alive, please be alive, please be alive_ , he chanted in his mind as he stroked with the frying pan.


	27. Chapter 27

            Wendy had set her alarm for 0700, but some­thing woke her before it went off. It was O’Neill’s voice in her head, saying, _“I have to get power to the radio.”_ At first, she thought she dreamed it. Tim was in Japan, literally on the opposite side of the world. To hear him at this distance would be incredible. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. The message wasn’t odd, at least not odd for Tim. He probably thought about ra­dios constantly.

            She shrugged it off and snuggled back into her pillow, planning to doze until the alarm went off. But just as she had hit that twilight stage where she couldn’t be sure if she’d been asleep or not, she heard Tim again: _“The life raft.”_

            “Tim?” she said aloud. It was a bit harder to dismiss a second occurrence, not when life rafts weren’t a regular fixture to Tim’s career or any hobby she knew of. She sat up. Now wide awake, she deliberately closed her eyes to concentrate. He wasn’t a Receiver, but she had to at least try to establish contact. _Tim, if you can hear me, tell me what’s going on_.

            She held her concentration for several min­utes, but the hoped-for response never came. Fi­nally, she opened her eyes and crawled out of bed. It would be untrue to say she wasn’t concerned. However, she knew from experience not to cry wolf every time she felt bad vibes. A fried radio and a life raft fit nicely into a past _seaQuest_ le­gend she’d heard several times before. Miguel was particularly fond of relating how one of his WSKRS saved _seaQuest_ along with a mini-sub full of French school kids. Perhaps Tim was tell­ing his version of the Bermuda Triangle story to a fellow linguistics conferee.

            She was able to put it out of her mind until breakfast, when she heard him again. _“No way. I’ve got to be hallucinating.”_ This time, there was no anxiety. She couldn’t read Tim’s emotions like she could with most psychic connections, but she could gather them from his voice. And this time was more like… _joy_. Wendy was relieved to feel something positive, but still didn’t understand how she could be hearing Tim from so far away. She’d been successfully blocking him for weeks now, and that had been while he was still on _sea­Quest_. Now that he was considerably further away, he was suddenly breaking through again? It didn’t make sense.

            When she had the time, she’d write some notes in her personal diary and ask Tim about it when he got back. Maybe she could discover a trigger mechanism that would help him control his Transmissions. However, today she had to focus on something other than parapsychology. Dr. Morris was in full gusto mode, which was great for him, but it often came off as pushy and tyrannical toward the rest of his team.

            The penguin research was going well, as far as Wendy could tell. Darwin took to Caprio’s wetsuit and spent up to forty minutes at a time eating and playing with the penguins. The video he provided was sharp, extensive, and edu­cational, but it was also clear that it wasn’t at the expense of fun. With Morris’s permission, Miguel made a copy of the penguin footage, and then edited the best shots together with some WSKRS views that showed the penguins and dolphin to­gether. He added a lively Beach Boys soundtrack. The resulting ten-minute “Catch a Wave” vidlet had already become hugely popular in the crew lounge.

            If there was a problem aboard _seaQuest_ , it was among the military complement who were battling boredom. Even the science crews who weren’t interested in penguins still had plenty of their own studies to keep them busy. But other than running WSKRS, keeping tabs on life sup­port, and monitoring the hull temperature so they didn’t end up in a block of ice, there wasn’t a whole lot for the military guys to do. Shipboard pranks were at an all-time high, and Brody and Ford were getting on each other’s nerves, turning even the smallest tasks into petty competition. Nothing was anywhere near serious yet, but this was only the second day _seaQuest_ had been parked. Wendy was concerned for how five more days were going to wear on them.

            However, other than seeing that Morris’s team got a dose of encouragement for every push and ensuring that pranks stayed safely short of da­maging relationships, there was not much Wendy could do about the crew’s morale. She worried too much and she knew it. The UEO didn’t let just anyone aboard their flagship. They were the best of the best. Surely they could withstand a week of boredom. Soon, the captain would be back, _sea­Quest_ would be moving again, and everything would return to normal.

            After breakfast, Wendy went back to Medbay, but it was just as clean as she left it the night be­fore and just as deserted. She’d already finished all her requisitions and updated all the patient records. She couldn’t bring herself to hope Med­bay would get busier, but she was beginning to appreciate the way the military crew was feeling without anything important to do.

            She took a walk, making the rounds through the workstations on sea deck, making sure every­one had what they needed, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes a pat on the back worked wonders and Wendy was attuned enough to the feelings around her that she could usually tell who needed them.

            Tony was in the moon pool, probably just waiting for Darwin to return from his latest eating and playing escapade. Since there was precious little for anyone to do on the bridge, Ford assigned him to downloading the memory on the video camera and making sure the dolphin waited suffi­ciently between excursions so that he didn’t en­danger his fins and flippers. The latter part of his duty wasn’t always easy because it meant having to compete with the black and white playmates and tasty food Darwin knew were outside.

            Wendy waved and Tony waved back. She strolled to the water for no particular reason but to have a place to stand and think. People always got uncomfortable if a telepath stared at the wall or the floor. Oddly, no one thought it strange if she stared into empty water.

            _“Please be alive, please be alive, please be alive…”_ Tim’s voice was full of distress this time. Wendy swayed with the influx of panic she felt, catching herself on the moon pool edge.

            Tony caught her movement. “Doc? You all right?”

            Wendy inhaled deeply. Tim’s voice kept re­peating the same cryptic wish over and over, like a broken record. The anxiety was oppressive. She felt so overwhelmed that she couldn’t speak. She repositioned her grip on the moon pool edge and shook her head at Tony.

            He swam over and stood in front of her. “You want me to call somebody?”

            She swallowed and shook her head. After another breath, she managed to whisper, “No.”

            Concern drawn in his eyes, he reached out with both wet hands to steady her shoulders. When his hands made contact with her bare upper arms, he startled. “Is that O’Neill?”

            Wendy nodded.

            “Who’s he talkin’ to… er, about?”

            She shook her head, closed her eyes, and con­centrated as hard as she could. Tony’s presence steadied her. He seemed to sense it was a bad time to ask questions and fell silent. Then, she felt his mind coming toward hers, concentrating with her, their psychic energies combining and strengthen­ing each other.

            Together, they spoke in unison: “Lucas.”

            As soon as they spoke, the chanting stopped. Wendy wasn’t sure if Tim stopped it at the source or whether some sort of psychic self-preservation system kicked in. But either way, she was glad. Someone else’s anxiety was never comfortable to feel. She panted a few breaths, then looked at Tony, who eyed her with concern, but didn’t seem as drained as she was.

            “What was that?” he asked.

            “I think Lucas is in trouble and Tim is trying to get to him.”

            “I thought he went on R‘n’R wit’ the cap.”

            “Something must’ve gone wrong. I’m going to try to contact them.”

            Tony let go of her arms, suddenly self-con­scious. “Hey, I didn’t mean to pry. I was just…”

            “It’s okay. I needed the support. Besides, it took both of us to figure out who Tim was so wor­ried about. I wasn’t getting it by myself.” She patted his arm reassuringly.

            “You okay now?”

            “Yeah. Thanks, Tony.”

            “No prob, Doc. You gonna find Lucas, right?”

            “I’ll do my best. Try not to worry. O’Neill was with him and the captain can’t be far. You know they’d never let anything happen to him.”

            “Yeah, sure.” He didn’t sound very con­vinced. Too streetwise for his own good.

            Unfortunately, she shared his skepticism.


	28. Chapter 28

            Tim’s arm muscles felt like they were on fire. The rope, which tethered the frying pan to his wrist, had dug into his flesh. It wasn’t hurting much, but only because the cold seawater was keeping every­thing on the surface nice and numb. Tim knew there was going to be a pain debt to pay on all of this later, but as long as it wasn’t now, he didn’t hesitate to charge up the limit.

            He’d put every ounce of energy and breath into rowing to Lucas. He was gasping for air himself, so there was none to spare on calling his name. He shined the flashlight on Lucas’s face and was surprised to see a warm shade of pink. But the split-second after he regis­tered the color, he saw that it wasn’t from the teen’s face, but something obscuring it, like seaweed. Tim set the flashlight aside and swept with his hand.

            He knew the moment his fingers made contact that he wasn’t touching kelp but jellyfish ten­tacles. The stinging sensation penetrated the numbness like nothing else. Tim found breath enough to cry, “Ouch!” and utter some profanities in various lan­guages, but he continued the sweep. If those things hurt his hand that much, how much worse were they hurting Lucas on his face?

            Tim hauled Lucas out of the water a few inches at a time because he didn’t have the strength to do it all at once. He didn’t detach the parachute. Reaching for the release would have been awkward enough that he feared he might fall in. It wasn’t like he’d have to drag the thing this time. He left it trailing over the raft edge and dangling in the water.

            Once Lucas was aboard and Tim got a better look at him, panic renewed. His eyelids and cheeks were inflamed from the jellyfish stings, but the lips were blue. Tim didn’t have the breath to speak, but tears formed in his eyes unbidden. _Don’t do this, Lucas._

            Lucas’s chest rose and fell. It was shallow, but at least he was breathing. If Tim could just keep him from dying of hypothermia, he might have a chance. He removed the life vest and rig­ging straps, leaving it where it lay attached to the parachute. Next, he attacked Lucas’s wet clothes, tearing everything off as fast as he could. He scooted his body next to the captain’s and took the flashlight back to the survival kit to scrounge up another mylar blanket. He found it, but as he was pulling it out, another bit of survival gear caught his eye. Exothermic gel packs. “Yes!” he yelled triumphantly.

            He ripped open a large 8x8 pack of sealed gel and bent the metal disc inside. In seconds, the gel became thick and semi-solid while it heated up. The package boasted 130°F in characters so large that even without glasses, Tim could make it out. He grabbed all the packs he found in the kit and carried them to where Lucas was lying in wet briefs. He ac­tivated each one and placed the large ones over hands, feet, neck, and chest. There were another dozen 4x4-inch ones, which he scattered over his torso, legs, and arms. He then wrapped the mylar blanket over and around everything, cocooning him like he had the captain.

            Tim didn’t know what to do about the jelly­fish stings. There was a large first aid kit, but he couldn’t read the instructions on any of the medications without his glasses. He was too afraid to guess, especially with stings so close to Lucas’s eyes. He just prayed that the jel­lyfish wasn’t lethal and that the damage could be reversed later.

            Now that both his companions were as safe as he could arrange, Tim felt the cold and exhaustion creeping up. He removed his own wet clothes and found another mylar blanket. He shut off the flash­light and positioned himself so that he flanked Lu­cas’s other side. The three of them fit snugly across the short way, with lots of room to spare both above their heads and below their feet. He pulled the mylar up to his chin and breathed a heavy, shuddering sigh.

            For several minutes, Tim shivered, teeth chat­ter­ing. The last hour replayed on his mind like a night­mare in slow motion. As his skin started to thaw, his hands and face throbbed with pain. Thank God the ocean was calm and he didn’t feel seasick on top of everything else. The gentle swaying was actually relaxing. His pain was so distracting that he didn’t think he could possi­bly sleep. However, as soon as his heartbeat slowed, exhaustion overtook pain and plunged him into the welcome darkness of sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

            Wendy sat at her computer and tried yet again to figure out where Capt. Bridger, Lt. O’Neill, and Lucas had disappeared to. The _seaQuest_ ’s shuttle launch was docked in Buenos Aires and the three of them had boarded an air trolley, which landed on time in Honolulu. That much had been easy to find. But she couldn’t find any record of them boarding another flight. They didn’t even have reservations to have missed. If all three of them had been on R&R, and if Wendy hadn’t felt that menacing psychic mes­sage, she’d just assume they decided to take their leave in Hawaii.

            She called the coordinators at the Far East Lin­guistics Conference. O’Neill hadn’t signed in yet, but the only thing he’d missed was a mixer and Wendy could easily imagine him skipping a social gathering to go read or rest. The opening session wasn’t scheduled to start for another twelve hours. After calling nine hotels, she found out where Tim had reservations, but he hadn’t checked into his ho­tel room either.

            Her frustration growing, she decided to con­fide in the commander. He wasn’t very busy and perhaps he knew something that could put her fears to rest. She depressed the intercom button. “Smith to Cmdr. Ford.”

            “Ford.”

            “I need to speak with you.”

            “Is it an emergency?”

            “I’m not sure, Commander. I’ll let you de­cide.”

            “I’ll be right down.”

            It would take a minute or two to get from the bridge to Medbay. She took those few moments to ready herself. The straight-laced Jonathan Ford was not always an easy man to talk to. He’d want verifi­able facts and she didn’t have a lot of those right now. But Wendy came from a military fam­ily and she could handle his strict military atti­tude. He’d had enough encounters with psychic phenomena that he didn’t dare ignore telepathic evidence, even when he wished she had some­thing more demonstrable. He would hear her out.

            He stepped into the room, standing tall, all busi­ness. “Doctor.”

            “Commander, did the captain leave his itine­rary with you?”

            She tried hard not to read him, but he nar­rowed his eyes and furrowed his brows at her. “He did, but it was for emergencies only.”

            “I’m not asking in order to disrupt his leave, Jo­nathan.”

            “What is it then?”

            “I had a very strong psychic impression that Lu­cas is in danger. I wasn’t going to tell you without more information, but I’ve just spent the last hour and a half trying to track him down, without any luck. Capt. Bridger, Lt. O’Neill, and Lucas all ar­rived in Hawaii Thursday morning, and then they just vanished from the military da­tabase. I can’t even find what flight they were _supposed_ to be on, much less confirm if they boarded.”

            Ford frowned and shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. The captain booked the three of them all the way through to Tokyo.”

            “Well, I’m not Lucas, Commander, but I think I can check flights from Hawaii to Japan. If you think you can do better, by all means…” She swept her hand toward her computer.

            Ford unzipped a pocket on his jumpsuit sleeve and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He moved toward the computer. Wendy backed up, leaving him plenty of room. He sat at her console, un­folded the paper, and started typing, looking back and forth from the paper to the keyboard, copying informa­tion. She purposely didn’t look at the screen or his paper. Ford would feel better if she didn’t try to read what he obviously regarded as an inviolable secret. Instead, she watched his face.

            His brows slanted and his frown deepened. He typed and shook his head, then typed some more. After a few minutes, he actually growled at the screen.

            Wendy couldn’t help but smile. “Problem, Com­mander?”

            “You’re right. There’s definitely something weird going on here. I can find the record of O’Neill’s solo-flight cancellation, but I can’t find any record that their joint travel arrangements were ever booked, much less confirmed and then can­celed. Yet this is a printout of the confirmed reser­vations.” He pushed the paper toward her, no longer guarding it.

            “Doesn’t that sound like something Lucas would do?”

            Ford’s head bobbed side to side as he thought it over. “Yeah, I’m sure he _could_ do it, but why? The captain said tagging along with O’Neill to Japan was Lucas’s idea. He wanted to visit a mi­crochip factory or something.”

            “It doesn’t make sense to me either. But Lu­cas is in some kind of trouble. I’m sure of it.”

            “Could you tell where he was—in a plane, on the ground, indoors or out? Is he being held hos­tage? Is the captain with him?”

            Wendy shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see Lucas or the captain at all. This came through Tim and he was almost frantic with worry that Lucas was going to die.”

            “What would you like me to do, Doctor?” He was putting a great deal of trust in her abilities and that impressed her. She had the feeling if she told him to drop everything and take _seaQuest_ to Ja­pan, he just might do it.

            She sighed deeply. “I hoped you had access to information that I just couldn’t find. I don’t know what else you _can_ do.”

            “All right, fair enough. I’m going to make some calls, see if I can find out anything. If you get any more information, telepathically or other­wise, I want to hear it.”

            She raised her hand like a court witness taking an oath. “I promise you’ll be the first to know.”


	30. Chapter 30

            Aboard the _U.S.S. Key West_ , sonar specialist Gary Taylor relieved his night watch counterpart. The less-experienced Fields was something of a ce­lebrity after finding three air force pilots who made an emergency parachute jump. The water was cold enough to have killed them had they been left out there another hour or so. Capt. John­son’s rescue operation probably saved their lives, and now the lucky flyboys were hitching a ride to Midway.

            Being one of the oldest submarines in the navy, _Key West_ didn’t often have moments like these in the limelight anymore, so while Taylor wished he’d been the one to have logged the con­tact, he knew this was good for the whole boat, and shared the general excitement everyone felt. Still, it was always difficult to get back to routine tasks after a big event. After offering Fields his congratulations, Taylor sat in the sonar room and donned his headphones.

            He did his regular sweeps, verifying the bi­ologics Fields already had in tracking and making sure the sea they were headed into was safe and clear. Nothing for at least a hundred miles. It wasn’t until he switched to the Extreme Long Range Sonar equipment that something faint caught his attention. He checked Fields’s log and listened to the recorded emergency beacons, one at a time. His new beep sounded similar in pitch, but much fainter in volume, and different enough in frequency and duration to cause him puzzle­ment.

            Tracking put this new signal at over two hun­dred miles away from where they’d picked up the pilots. Why would one survivor have been so far away from the others, and more importantly, why didn’t the rescued pilots say anything? Johnson would never have left the area if there was a pos­sibility of another survivor. _Key West_ had been going the opposite direction for at least three hours now.

            It just couldn’t be what it seemed. That had to be it. Fields found pilots to rescue, so Taylor was inventing something he could take credit for. But he couldn’t get the imaginary contact to stop its faint, yet insistent, beeping in his ears.

            _Run it through the computer_. Yes, let the ma­chine prove it wasn’t there so he could get on with other matters. He isolated the odd-sounding beep, which shouldn’t have been possible if he were imagining it. Then he ran it through the computer for enhancement and identification.

            The analysis said it wasn’t one beacon at all, but four water-activated emergency locators all within a ten-foot radius. That’s why everything was off. They were so close together that his ears heard the overlap as one sound.

            Taylor slipped his headset off his ears and rested it around his neck. He pressed the intercom button that connected him to the command center. “Conn? Sonar.”

            The deck officer acknowledged his inquiry and waited for his report.

            “Lieutenant, did anyone ask those pilots if there could have been more survivors? I’m pick­ing up emergency beacons from three life jackets and an inflatable raft, bearing two-nine-five de­grees at two hundred forty-eight miles.”


	31. Chapter 31

            Cmdr. Ford was having no luck. Everyone he called did the same thing he had done on Dr. Smith’s computer. They checked the records and scratched their heads a lot, then made guesses about what the captain’s party _probably_ did. But even if the captain and Lucas decided to vacation in Hawaii, where did that put O’Neill? He was supposed to be attending a language conference in Japan and he hadn’t shown up, nor had he notified anyone of his whereabouts. Technically, that meant he was AWOL. But ever since his conver­sation with Dr. Smith, Jonathan had been a lot more concerned for the safety of his shipmates than any rule-breaking.

            Beyond the fact he was worried about Lucas, he was frustrated in the extreme that no one could get around computer systems like that kid could. If Lu­cas had been presented the same itinerary paradox, he’d have been able to figure out who manipulated the data, when, where, and probably what they ate for breakfast. The _seaQuest_ crew took for granted that no one else matched his hacking skills, but for goodness sake, wasn’t there anyone else, anywhere, that could do even a frac­tion of what Lucas could?

            If their only lead outside of Dr. Smith’s psychic impression wasn’t this stupid hide-and-seek non­sense with the military transport network, he’d have called Node 3 and tried to recruit one of Lucas’s friends to help. But he didn’t dare ask strangers to hack military computers. Lucas might know which of those kids could be trusted, but Jonathan sure didn’t.

            He was about ready to give it a rest when Or­tiz’s voice came over the intercom. “Bridge to Cmdr. Ford.”

            He pressed the button on the triangular con­sole. “Ford.”

            “I have Adm. Overbeck on a secure chan­nel for you.”

            “Route it to the ward room, Mr. Ortiz.”

            “Aye, sir.”

            _An admiral on a secure channel, right now?_ And not just any admiral, but the head of opera­tions at Pearl Harbor, the same location as the last known whereabouts of their missing people. This was too much coincidence for comfort. Ford knew Bridger held some distaste for this particular ad­miral, but it always struck him as a personality clash that both men set aside in order to conduct themselves profes­sionally. Maybe this was just the break he needed to find out what was going on. He drew a deep breath, straightened his back, and pressed the button on the vid-link screen.

            The admiral had a grave expression. “Cmdr. Ford.”

            He dipped his head in a nod. “Admiral.”

            “I’m afraid it is my sad duty to inform you of the death of your commanding officer.”

            Jonathan couldn’t hide his shock and disbe­lief. “What?”

            “Capt. Nathan Bridger, Lt. Timothy O’Neill, and Mr. Lucas Wolenczak were passengers aboard the last flying B-29. She was headed to Tokyo as a gift to their museum. Capt. Bridger was eager to ride the historic plane, but she crashed in Sakhalin, Russia. There were no survi­vors.”

            Jonathan had about thirty questions he wanted to ask and it was difficult to decide which one to ask first. “Sir, may I ask what time this crash oc­curred?”

            The admiral looked surprised, like the ques­tion was absurd or even unreasonable. He didn’t speak for what seemed minutes. Ford tilted his head, watching the admiral. “Sir? Are you there?”

            “Uh, yes, Commander. I just… You caught me off guard. I mean, I didn’t expect… I don’t know. I just heard the news myself and I don’t recall. Why do you ask?”

            _You call to tell me my captain is dead, but you can’t understand why I would want to know when the accident happened?_ “I’m sure you’re aware we have a telepath on board _seaQuest_. She felt a strong impression earlier today from one of those men. I just wondered whether it could have been after the accident, which would mean they could still be alive.”

            The admiral’s frown dissolved and he shook his head. “She probably felt their fear when the crash was imminent. It couldn’t have been after the crash. Look, see for yourself.” He pushed some buttons on his console. His face disappeared from the vid-screen, replaced by what appeared to be news footage shot from a helicopter.

            It was nighttime but a huge inferno and do­zens of smaller fires spread over a large area of rocky, treeless landscape. There were twisted pieces of metal scattered in the shadows, but none of the dark shapes was recognizable and what wasn’t on fire was too small to be human. Some­one was doing news commentary in either Chi­nese or Japanese. The fact that Ford couldn’t run this by O’Neill stung sharply.

            “I’m sorry, Commander. There’s simply no way they could have survived.” The news footage ended and the admiral’s face was back.

            Ford nodded mutely, but he had more ques­tions now than he had before. “Why couldn’t any­body find the captain’s flight plan in the data­base?” This time, he watched the admiral’s reac­tion very closely.

            Overbeck’s eyes widened. Ford found this odd. Admirals weren’t expected to know where every captain was going on R&R or what plane anyone might be catching. He hadn’t been ashamed to say he didn’t know what time the crash occurred. Why, then, did this question give him so much pause? “Uh… my yeoman booked them just this morning. Perhaps the database simply hasn’t updated yet.”

            _Yeah, right_. Jonathan nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t like where his suspicions were taking him. Not one bit. What else could he ask that wouldn’t reveal his doubts? “Isn’t Tokyo much further south? How did they get so far off-course before they crashed?”

            The admiral seemed to have a ready answer this time. “I have no idea. I’d recommend asking the pi­lot, but as you can see, it doesn’t look like he made it either.”

            Ford nodded idly. He had so many questions now that his head was starting to pound. But he didn’t trust the admiral. Something here was wrong. Very wrong. He was wondering just how to end the call so he could get Dr. Smith’s opin­ion, when the admiral broke the silence.

            “You haven’t asked me about _seaQuest_ yet.”

            _And why would I, when I’m not getting straight answers anyway?_ He inhaled deeply. “I’ll bring her home.” The crew should be allowed to attend funer­als and memorial services.

            “No, that isn’t what I meant. I just thought you’d like to know…she’s _yours_.”

            Command of _seaQuest_? Before Bridger, he’d dreamed of this. He thought he deserved it after he relieved Capt. Stark of command back in the days before the UEO. He’d even entertained a few day­dreams of getting her after Bridger retired. But now, like this? It surprised him how empty it felt, how little he cared about command if this was the cost. When the silence lingered too long, he rea­lized he needed to respond. Did one give thanks to the mes­senger when he brought news so grievous? Did the admiral even consider what pain the whole crew would have to endure before they could ever adjust to a new captain?

            Ford straightened his back again. “I hope I prove worthy of her legacy, sir.”

            The admiral nodded once. “Smooth sailing, _Cap­tain_. Overbeck out.”

            For a very long time, Jonathan didn’t move. His mind raced with questions, but emotionally, he just felt numb. This wasn’t how he should feel. He should feel grief. He should feel at least a tinge of excitement. He should feel _something_.

            His fingers curled into a fist and punched the intercom button. “Ford to Dr. Smith.”

            “Smith here.”

            “Meet me in the ward room, Doctor.”

            “On my way.”


	32. Chapter 32

            Bright light and heat assaulted Nathan’s tired eyelids. Sunshine. Why was he sleeping in the sun? And why was his head aching like he’d had too much to drink? He wasn’t ready to wake up; he just wanted to turn over. Without thinking, he pulled his hip around so he could lie on his side, but doing so revealed another oddity: his bunk wasn’t stable. It was acting more like a waterbed. And where the hell was his pillow? Still, all the little anomalies weren’t enough to draw him from the magnetic pull of slumber. He snuggled his shoulder into the waterbed and drew his blanket up to his neck. It crinkled.

            The incongruous noise produced by his covers coalesced with all the other clues he’d been sens­ing and the sum of the evidence finally spurred him to open his eyes. The sun was shining and the air was cool and salty. The next thing he noticed was that his bed was bright orange and it extended straight up, beside his head like a giant… _life raft!_ He bolted upright and stared out at the open sea. He turned his head right and then left, but the vista didn’t change—unending ocean in every di­rection.

            Shock mingled with confusion. _How did I get here?_ And then he felt someone beside him. He looked down at the head sticking out of a mylar cocoon as he amended his thought: _How did_ **we** … The face itself was swollen and inflamed, ob­scuring the identity somewhat, but the blond hair, strewn in disarray, was unmistakable. His voice caught in his throat as he gasped, “Lucas.”

            The teen didn’t stir. His face looked terrible, but at least he was resting peacefully. He’d be in pain when he woke, so it was best to postpone it and let him sleep. Next to Lucas, Nathan saw another body, lying face down. What he could see of the face was mostly black and blue, and the jaw hung askew at an odd angle. He couldn’t tell from the disfigured face, but his last waking memories coupled with the dark hair suggested it was likely to be Lt. O’Neill. A bare shoulder and arm lay atop the mylar and the paleness of the exposed skin added to his suspicion.

            Nathan had seen O’Neill slather his nose in zinc oxide for the shortest of exposures. He prob­ably burned easily. The captain crawled around to try to cover his arm before he had sunburn to add to his woes. When he left his own crinkling blan­ket behind, the captain discovered he wasn’t wearing anything but his skivvies. It might have been mildly embarrassing if the others had been awake to see, but they weren’t. Personally, he didn’t much care; he’d worn less when he was living alone on his island.

            He lifted Tim’s elbow so that he could ma­neuver his arm safely under cover. As he was moving it, the hand turned enough to see what should have been his palm. About the only good thing Nathan could say was that it wasn’t bleed­ing, at least not anymore. There were dozens of cuts all over his palm, some embedded with tiny bits of glass and wood splinters of varying sizes. His wrist was abraded like he’d been bound with rope and tried to free himself. It also looked like his hand had encountered the same injury as Lu­cas’s face. The captain was now lucid enough to identify their wounds as jellyfish stings. He cringed as he slid Tim’s arm under cover. Thank goodness, the lieutenant didn’t wake up. He needed a doctor and there didn’t appear to be one anywhere on the horizon. Literally.

            Nathan took another moment to survey his surroundings. The inflatable raft was huge—de­signed to hold at least twelve seated men. A pile of wet clothes littered the aft end. He recognized the shirt he’d been wearing, along with some de­nim, plaid, and khaki. A couple of life vests peeked out from amidst the cloth. Closer to the bow, a third life vest rested against one of the raft sides. This vest was tangled with straps and ropes that extended over the side. Attached to the rig­gings was a deflated parachute, which trailed in the water. A first aid kit and a large flashlight lay between the clothes and where he’d slept. He dis­covered empty wrappers for about a dozen heat packs, but there was no sign of the heat packs themselves.

            The captain crawled silently from where his companions slept to the first aid kit. He inven­toried what was there, making a mental list for future reference, and pulling out the analgesics and antihistamines. The jellyfish victims would need those when they woke.

            His next stop was the pile of clothes. His Ber­muda shorts were still quite damp, but he put them on anyway. He laid his chambray shirt out flat so it would dry faster. From the pile of clothes, he deduced that Tim and Lucas were both unclothed beneath the mylar. He stuck his hand overboard to test the water temperature. Cold—much colder than he’d expected. Their clothes had been in that frigid water, which meant they had probably been there too, but he couldn’t remember anything. What had happened?

            O’Neill probably knew something. He didn’t sustain all those facial and hand injuries from un­friendly sea life. Nathan wanted nothing more than to question him, but he wouldn’t interrupt an injured man’s sleep simply to satisfy his curiosity, no matter how acute.

            After he’d arranged all the still-damp clothes on the deck to dry, the captain started checking the rest of the raft. It wasn’t a submarine, but it _was_ a boat and he would know it upside down and inside out. He found the frying pan with its rope handle. The rope diameter matched the wounds on Tim’s wrist and closer inspection revealed what could be skin and blood in the fibers. Perhaps the lieutenant hadn’t been bound at all. But why he’d make a bracelet out of a frying pan, Nathan couldn’t guess.

            His next discovery was the survival kit. Its zippered access was built into the raft’s inflated side. The kit held matches, chafing fuel, fishing supplies, scores of MRE food packs, and a large supply of desalination/purification tabs. He found two quart-sized plastic bags, filled them with sea­water, and added a tablet to each one. After wait­ing for the precipitate to settle, he sampled the water himself. It slaked his thirst, but the taste left much to be desired. Still, he couldn’t complain. Dehydration would be a lot worse. At least the injured would have something to chase their pills down.

            Although the survival kit held quite a bit, the one thing it didn’t have was a radio. Nathan was disheartened at the discovery, but it reminded him of something else. He checked the dates on the MREs. This raft was no more than two years old, which meant it probably had an emergency bea­con. It was only a matter of time until they were rescued. They’d all be back to _seaQuest_ before Morris was done counting penguins.

            He re-zipped the survival kit and scooted to­ward the parachute. He hauled it out of the water and spread it out over the remaining portion of the deck to dry. The nylon might make good ponchos. He’d spent enough time in the sun that he wasn’t worried about his own skin, but Lucas and Tim would need to protect their paler com­plexions. They couldn’t stay under blankets for­ever.

            With nothing else to do, he sat down next to Lucas and reclined against the side of the raft. The sun was still low in the morning sky, but he could feel heat against his face and chest even despite the cool, salty breeze. Okay, so it wasn’t the trip he’d planned, but he’d definitely get some R&R now, whether he wanted it or not.


	33. Chapter 33

            Wendy hurried to the ward room. It sounded like Cmdr. Ford had something important to tell her. She hoped it was about Lucas and the others. She hadn’t been able to put her emotions aside and concentrate on anything else. Every time she tried, Tim’s frantic voice echoed anew in her mind.

            She entered to find Ford standing and staring into space. He didn’t seem to notice her. She tried to read just his body language, but it was hard to ignore how conflicted he was feeling. She took a few more small steps, hoping she’d garner his at­tention, but he didn’t acknowledge her. Trying to keep her voice calm and nonthreatening, she whispered, “Com­mander? You sent for me?”

            He didn’t jump or look surprised. He simply turned his head and met her gaze. “Doctor, I’ve just been informed that Capt. Bridger, Lt. O’Neill, and Lucas were aboard a B-29 that crashed. No survi­vors.”

            Wendy gasped and shook her head. This wasn’t the news she wanted to hear. Her jaw dropped and her mouth hung open, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to close it.

            Jonathan moved to face her and placed his hands atop her shoulders. “I don’t believe it. I can’t explain why, but I don’t trust Adm. Over­beck. Something stinks.”

            Hope surged anew. If Cmdr. Ford was skep­tical, there had to be really good reason. Then she remembered the first messages she’d heard, the ones she explained away and discounted. She blinked and drew a deep breath. “Commander, there was more to my psychic impressions with Lt. O’Neill this morning. I didn’t mention them because I thought they were nothing at the time.”

            “Go ahead, Doctor.”

            “Tim said, ‘I have to get power to the radio’ and then a little later, he said, ‘the life raft.’”

            “And why would O’Neill need to power a ra­dio if he’s in a plane?”

            Wendy shrugged. She had a pretty good idea now, but she wanted Jonathan to draw his own con­clusions. “Exactly.”

            “And you said he talked about a life raft?”

            “He didn’t talk _about_ it, really. He just said, or rather he _thought_ those three words: The. Life. Raft. He could have been discussing it in normal conversation.”

            He scoffed. “Highly unlikely. We just found out he was on a plane that crashed on an island, and we know he was thinking about getting power to a ra­dio, a life raft, and Lucas in danger.”

            Wendy nodded. “Not the typical things that cross your mind in the midst of a nosedive.”

            “Agreed. He may have been thinking about the radio before the crash, but that suggests he had warning. The other two thoughts seem more appro­priate to the aftermath, but he couldn’t have thought about anything if he were dead, right?”

            She shook her head. “Yes. Tim was definitely alive when I heard him.”

            “And if he survived the crash, there’s no rea­son to assume he’s dead now.”

            “True. He’s over 10,000 miles away. It’s in­credi­ble I heard anything at all.” She was still try­ing to get over the fact that Ford believed _her_ over an admiral. “Commander, don’t tell me anything you don’t want to, but what did the admiral say?”

            “I wish I had a recording to give you. I asked him simple questions and he hesitated and hedged. This plane supposedly crashed on the Russian is­land of Sakhalin, hundreds of miles from Tokyo. Yet when I brought the course discrepancy up, he didn’t evidence any concern about it. Then when I asked about why we couldn’t find the flight plan, his eyes bugged out. I wish you could have been here.”

            “Jonathan, just because you don’t have _extra-sensory_ perception doesn’t mean you don’t have good instincts. You’re a keen observer; you read body language and voice inflection. Don’t dis­count those things. You know in your gut when something isn’t right. Sometimes, that’s all I feel too. I just have more confidence in my gut feel­ings than you allow yourself to have.”

            He looked away from her and spoke in a far-away voice. “Overbeck promoted me to captain and gave me the _seaQuest_.”

            “Just like that? Capt. Bridger’s body hasn’t even been recovered and they’ve already handed off his command?”

            He didn’t react.

            She added hastily, “Not that you don’t de­serve it. I just meant—”

            He held up his hand. “No. You’re right. It was way too fast. No emergency has been declared. He didn’t even ask me to set course for home port.” He was silent a minute, then he slammed a fist into the table. “That son of a bitch! He bought me off! He thinks I’ll be so enamored of command that I’ll stop questioning everything.”

            He was silent for a long while and Wendy didn’t interrupt his thoughts. She was thinking about taking her leave, when he finally spoke again.

            “Tell Dr. Morris his research is going to have to wait. And have someone make sure Darwin’s inside. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

            “What should I tell him if he asks why?”

            Jonathan chuckled dryly. “Tell him that Cmdr. Ford is going on a wild-goose chase.”

            “Not _Captain_ Ford?”

            He shook his head deliberately and raised his voice a little. “No. Please keep my alleged promo­tion a secret. It probably won’t stand after this is all over and if I use the title now, it only makes it harder to remember what I’m trying to do.”

            “And what _are_ you trying to do?”

            “I’m trying to find Capt. Bridger, along with O’Neill and Lucas.”

            “And what if the captain turns out to be dead?”

            “Then I want to find out what _really_ happened to him.”

            She lowered her voice to a whisper. “If he died in that crash, you might lose more than command of the _seaQuest_ , Jonathan.”

            He nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

            To say he didn’t care about the consequences would have been inaccurate. Wendy could tell with­out probing that he cared a great deal about possible repercussions to his career. He simply cared about his shipmates more.

            “Not that it matters, but I’m behind you.” Wendy patted his back.

            “It matters. Thank you, Doctor.”


	34. Chapter 34

            Jonathan Ford stayed behind after Dr. Smith left. He paced the room several times, hashing out the details in his mind. Finally, he pressed the in­tercom button. “Brody, Ortiz, and Henderson, please report to the ward room.”

            “Brody here. Acknowledged, sir.”

            They’d all been on the bridge when he left, so it shouldn’t take them long to get here. He paced some more while he waited.

            The three of them arrived, curious, but re­laxed. Besides Ortiz, the rest of the bridge crew had been bored out of their skulls, but Ford thought it preferable to what he was about to ask. He swept has arm toward the conference table. “Everyone have a seat.”

            Henderson looked the most bewildered. Capt. Bridger routinely asked Ortiz to join meetings, but Henderson wasn’t often included. To be honest, Ford didn’t want to involve her, but he needed her talents. He sat facing them.

            “First of all, what I am about to say _does not_ leave this room, understood?”

            He watched their faces for reaction.

            Ortiz spoke first. “Yes, sir.”

            Henderson nodded to begin with, but after Ortiz gave a verbal response, she added her voice, “Yes, sir.”

            He and Brody had been verbally sparring and pushing each other’s buttons for two days now. Ford couldn’t have blamed him if he thought this was just a set-up to another petty contest between them, but Brody studied his eyes while Ford stared him down. Brody arched a brow slightly and spoke very deliberately. “Understood, _sir_.” The minor emphasis on the last word spoke vol­umes. Yes, they had a rivalry and yes, they might get on one another’s nerves, but when it came down to serious business, Brody knew when to set pettiness aside.

            Ford knew he had their full attention now. He drew a deep breath. “I’ve been told by Adm. Overbeck that Capt. Bridger, Lt. O’Neill, and Lu­cas were all on a plane that crashed.” He didn’t give them any time to digest that shocker before he plowed on with the good news. “However, Dr. Smith has had telepathic contact that suggests at least one and possibly all of our people survived.” He waited while they all exhaled sighs of relief.

            “The admiral refused to entertain my theories and he won’t launch a search. Seems he’d rather just declare them all dead and leave it at that.” He waited a single beat before continuing. “I am therefore taking _seaQuest_ without his knowledge or permission. I need help to do this, but I won’t ask anyone to risk his or her career. We’re going up against an admiral, and this could easily esca­late into more than that. I’m prepared to defy the Secretary General if it comes to it. If any of you wants to take a few days of personal time, nothing will be said.”

            “Count me in, Commander,” Brody said.

            Ford managed a ghost of a smile and a nod.

            Henderson and Ortiz answered almost in un­ison: “Me, too.”

            “All right. In order to keep the crew from hearing about the plane crash and to preclude any­one in the UEO from asking questions or giving me any orders I will have to disobey, I am going to order tactical silence, including emergency channels. Henderson, disable all the vid-links in the crew lounges, science stations, and personal quarters. Leave the one on the bridge and in Med­bay operational, but shut off the power. No one uses them without my express permission. Mr. Ortiz, you make sure that the WSKRS don’t get hijacked for communication.”

            Ortiz chuckled. “Lucas isn’t here, Com­mander. I don’t think we have anything to worry about in that regard.”

            Ford nodded to him. “Probably so, but you never know. Someone leaked information during the missile scare at New Cape Quest and it re­sulted in a major panic. Leave nothing to chance. When we get underway, you’re going to have to watch all the sensors more closely, since we’ll be incommunicado.”

            Ortiz nodded. “I’m on it.”

            Ford widened his focus to include all three of his confidants. “Everyone will follow your leads. If you don’t question the black-out in front of the rest of the crew, then we should be all right.”

            The three of them nodded.

            “Henderson, Ortiz, you’re dismissed.”

            They chorused, “Aye, sir,” and left quietly.

            When the door seal hissed shut, Ford turned on Brody. “Do you have anything you need to say to me, off the record? This is your chance to let me have it.”

            Brody studied his face and then flashed one of his charismatic smiles, hazel eyes twinkling. “When we both get court martialed, you wanna share a cell in New Fort Leavenworth?”

            Ford couldn’t help cracking a grin. “I’m se­rious, Jim.”

            He shrugged. “So am I.”

            Ford shook his head. “You’re just following orders. If there’s hell to pay, this is all going to be on me.”

            “It’s my responsibility to relieve you of com­mand if I know you’re defying your superiors.”

            “And how would you know?”

            Brody laughed. “You just told me.”

            Ford shook his head and set his face back to dead serious. “I’ll deny telling you if they arrest you.”

            “Hell, what do you expect me to do if Bridger is dead and you’re locked up?”

            “Bridger _isn’t_ dead.” It came out more ve­he­ment than he’d intended, but he didn’t try to amend it.

            Brody put both hands up in surrender. “I be­lieve you.”

            “Okay, I know I could be wrong. I’m about to commandeer the biggest, most powerful subma­rine in the world for my own purposes.”

            “To rescue your captain,” Brody reminded him.

            “Yes,” Ford agreed. “But since what I’m doing will put me squarely outside of any external authority, I’m asking _you_ to make sure I don’t let it go to my head. Keep me accountable.”

            He chuckled. “Just call me Jiminy Brody.”

            It took Ford a couple of seconds to figure out the reference. He smiled despite himself. “Ex­actly,” he said, placing a hand on Brody’s back. He leaned in slightly toward his ear. “But stay off my shoulder.”

            “You got it, boss.”

            Ford glanced at his watch, then hit the inter­com button. “Ford to Smith.”

            Wendy’s voice came back immediately. “I did as you asked, Commander.”

            “Thank you, Doctor. Stand by. Bridge, put me on ship-wide speakers.”

            Henderson’s voice replied, “Aye, sir. You’re on speakers.”

            Ford adopted his best public relations man­ners. “This is Cmdr. Ford. Sorry, people, but we have to cut our Antarctic visit short. Unfortu­nately, I’m not at liberty to disclose why. _Sea­Quest_ will be at tactical communications black-out until further notice. Thank you all for your cooperation. Navigation, set course for the Sea of Okhotsk, all ahead full.”


	35. Chapter 35

            Long before Tim had slept enough, pain spoiled the party. His right hand hurt the most, but his face was a close second. He groaned in his sleep.

            “How do you feel, Tim?”

            He recognized the captain’s voice, but it struck his sleeping consciousness as out of place. He hadn’t yet figured out where he was or why just about every inch of his body hurt. But the words and tone were non-threatening enough that it didn’t trigger panic. With this much pain, he had to be in Medbay, and Capt. Bridger was checking on him, as he would any injured crew­man on _seaQuest_.

            Tim wasn’t coherent enough to form a re­sponse right away. He couldn’t say “fine”; that much was certain. Modesty was one thing, but he could barely move. While the captain appreciated honesty, he didn’t check on injured crewmen to listen to whining either. _What would one of the brave, strong guys say in this situation?_

            “Did you get the number of the train that hit me, sir?” His voice cracked and his jaw hurt to move, but at least he didn’t sound too pathetic.

            Bridger chuckled. “Actually, I was hoping you could help _me_ with that one.”

            Wait. The captain needed information? Tim wasn’t good for much right now, but he could still think and talking wasn’t so bad. He forced his eyelids open and immediately blinked back the assault of full sunlight. “Oh…bright.”

            “Take it easy. It appears we have plenty of time.”

            The sunlight and the salty air sent his mind into overdrive and the memory of what had hap­pened flooded back to his consciousness. Capt. Bridger sounded all right but what about… “Lu­cas?” Tim jerked his torso up, but a wall of pain slammed him hard. He only made it part of the way. The captain’s hand pressed gently on his shoulder, preventing any further attempt.

            “I said take it easy. That’s an order. Lucas is still asleep.”

            Asleep was good. Asleep meant alive. Tim breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I… I think he got stung by a jellyfish.”

            “That was my guess as well.” Bridger’s hand abandoned Tim’s shoulder now that he was lying down again. The captain lifted on his forearm, which elevated his right hand limply in the air. “But I suspect you’re a bit more intimately ac­quainted with the offending beastie than I am.”

            “It was dark. I thought it was seaweed.”

            He lifted the hand a fraction more to draw at­tention to it. “How does it feel?”

            _Like liquid fire_. “It stings and itches at the same time.”

            “I bet. We have antihistamines from the first aid kit. It’ll help a little. Can you sit up? Slowly, now.” The captain reached behind his back to help him up.

            Sore muscles screamed a silent protest, but Tim was able to keep his outward reaction down to a tight-faced cringe. The mylar fell to his lap and cold air hit his bare chest and back. He shi­vered.

            The raft bobbed a bit as the captain moved away from him. “I made some ponchos from the parachute nylon. Your short sleeves wouldn’t protect your arms from sunburn. All the clothes are still damp.”

            Something soft and light landed on Tim’s knees. Once he felt stable enough with his seated position, he reached for the poncho and straigh­tened out the wrinkles so he could figure out how to wear it. Even blurry, he could make out the simple diamond-shaped garment with a hole in the center. Pinching the fabric gingerly in his torn-up hands, he slipped it over his head. It wasn’t warm by any stretch, but he could always wrap up in mylar for warmth.

            He was glad the captain had thought about sunburn, but even happier to have something to cover himself. He didn’t have the musculature or the tan to ever feel good about going shirtless. Unless his bad vision deceived him, the captain wasn’t wearing a shirt or a poncho, but he had put his shorts back on. He crouched beside him with something in his hands. Tim squinted at it, but couldn’t figure out what it was.

            “Are your eyes injured?”

            Tim shook his head. “I don’t think so, sir. It’s just, well… I don’t wear glasses for their fashion statement.”

            Bridger laughed. “Good.”

            Tim found this a bit on the cruel side. _Sure, laugh at the geek who can’t see diddly squat with­out thick lenses perched on his nose_. But he’d made the self-deprecating joke, so he had no right to be offended.

            He felt the captain’s hand on his shoulder blade. He spoke softly, “I just meant that I’ll have less trouble keeping you lying down and resting.”

            Tim felt like death warmed over. But it was flattering that the captain didn’t realize how wimpy he was to actually welcome the rest.

            “This is water,” Bridger said, setting the edge of a heavy zip-lock bag against his lips. “Well, it’s what’s left when you take the salt and bacteria out of seawater, anyway.”

            Tim was able to feel the bag with his hands and help with the awkward operation of drinking. Quite a bit spilled on his poncho, but he was more worried about wasting the precious commodity than getting a little wet. It didn’t taste very good, but he was too thirsty to care.

            Bridger held up his hand. “Antihistamines.”

            Tim stuck his hand out to accept the pills. He couldn’t see anything but a white blur, but he could find his own mouth and get them in. The water bag somehow made it back into his reach so he could wash down his medicine.

            “All right. There are some pain relievers here too, but I think you better tell me about all your injuries before I pump any more drugs in you.”

            Tim’s stomach didn’t seem happy to have _any­thing_ in it right now. The water sloshed around and Tim felt a wave of nausea. “Excuse me, sir,” he grunted as he lunged for the side of the raft. The vomiting itself wasn’t so bad. It was only water and a couple of pills, after all. But how em­barrassing to have to do it in front of the captain. At least he managed to get his head directed over­board.

            “Motion sickness?” The tone was more sym­pathetic than teasing.

            It wasn’t like he could hide the evidence, so it was time to make light. “I guess that’s why the navy put me on submarines.”

            The captain chuckled lightly. “My good for­tune for that. But that wasn’t what I was getting at. Did you feel sick _before_ you took the pills?”

            Tim wiped his poncho ‘sleeve’ over his lips and shook his head. “No, my stomach was fine before.” He sat with his back supported by the raft side and closed his eyes.

            “I don’t think you’re seasick. I think the rest of your body called in the emergency crews and put the stomach on low priority. You didn’t have enough blood supply to the stomach for diges­tion.”

            Tim liked that explanation better than any­thing that made him look like a landlubber, but it probably meant his injuries were a bit worse than he thought.

            “You feel up to giving me a report?”

            He opened his eyes to try to look at the cap­tain, but he was just a blurry outline. “Umm. I can’t see you well enough to make eye contact, sir.”

            “Don’t even try, Tim. Just close your eyes and tell me what happened.”

            “I think the chicken was drugged.”

            Bridger scoffed. “That explains _my_ headache. What about yours?”

            “I didn’t eat chicken, so they had to find another way to knock me out.”

            “Who did?”

            “Col. Black. He looked surprised I woke up—for about half a second—before he punched my lights out.”

            “One punch did all that?”

            Evidently, his face looked as bad as it felt. “I think he wanted to be sure I didn’t wake up again.” _Or maybe it was just fun_. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been beat up for no reason but that someone got their jollies that way.

            “It looks like he broke your jaw.”

            “And knocked out a tooth. But who needs teeth if your jaw is broken?”

            The captain’s voice was gravely serious: “Who needs teeth if you’re dead?”

            Tim tried to keep his own mood light. He shrugged. Yeah. That too.”

            The seriousness turned to urgency. “Sorry to interrupt, Lieutenant, but do you know whether any of the pilots survived?”

            “They were all gone when I came to. Jumped, I think.”

            “Hold it right there. I need to do something.” The raft bounced up and down while the captain moved.

            Curiosity got the better of Tim and he opened his eyes a slit. The captain was standing and he heard a zipper. Tim closed his eyes quickly. He couldn’t see more than blurry colors, but if the captain was about to take a leak, he didn’t need anyone watching. While Tim expected to hear a trickle, he was unprepared for the giant splash he heard next. The raft rocked from the recoil of him jumping overboard.

            It wasn’t remotely warm enough that he’d need to cool off, but even had it been hot outside, the water was so cold that it would have been pre­ferable to just splash a handful on his face. Had he seen something useful in the water and gone after it? Tim couldn’t imagine what would have been important enough to brave that iciness.

            Tim felt scratching on the raft surface, like Bridger was trying to scrape off a barnacle or something. The captain gasped for breath, then Tim heard his voice coming over the side of the raft. “Tim, about three feet to your left, there’s a pair of scissors I used on the ponchos. Can you grab them for me?”

            Tim blinked. “Sure.” He moved slowly, un­sure whether he might have anything left in his stomach. He had to hold his mylar blanket to keep his bottom half covered. He felt his way with his other hand, but he finally saw a gleam of chrome that his fingers confirmed were the scissors from the first aid kit. Once he had them in hand, he looked around. “Where are you again?”

            “Over here,” the captain said. He reached out and Tim saw the tanned appendage well enough to get the scissors in the right place. “Thanks. Go lie back down. I’ll just be a minute.”

            Tim had every intention of doing as told, but just then, Lucas groaned. Tim made his way to the teen’s side, but he couldn’t tell whether he was still asleep or waking up. His face was red, like he’d sunburned already.

            “Captain?” he croaked.

            “He took a little swim, Lucas. He’ll be right back. Are you warm enough?”

            “Yeah, it’s just… I feel like I soaked my face in acid. I can’t open my eyes.”

            “You ran into a jellyfish. There are some anti­hist­amines in the first aid kit. I’d get them, but I can’t see very well right now either.”

            “Did you run into jellyfish too?”

            He tried to sound casual. “I just got stung on the hand. I can open my eyes, but everything is blurry ’cause I lost my glasses.”

            “What happened? Where are we?”

            “We’re in a life raft somewhere in the Pacific. It’s a long story and Capt. Bridger wants to hear too, so let’s wait for him, okay?”

            “Yeah, sure.”

            His mylar rustled a bit. Tim couldn’t see what Lucas was doing, but he wasn’t moving far.

            “Hey, where’re my clothes?”

            “They were wet and you were pretty cold. They’re drying out on the deck.”

            A dull clicking sounded from the bottom of the raft.

            Lucas startled. “What was that?”

            “I think the captain’s scraping something off. I have no idea what he’s doing.”

            A second later, Bridger surfaced, sputtering as he caught his breath.

            “Everything all right, sir?” Tim asked.

            “We need to find all the emergency locator beacons.”

            Lucas spoke up. “Why? What’s wrong?”

            “Well, good morning, kiddo. How’re you doing?” Capt. Bridger hoisted himself up over the side and climbed back into the raft.

            Lucas launched into full sass mode. “I can’t open my eyes and my face feels like it’s been boiled in lava. I’m lying on an inflatable raft in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a flimsy blanket to cover me up and I have a feeling the airlines lost our luggage. Did I leave anything out?”

            Bridger matched his tone. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Someone’s trying to kill us. That’s why I need to find all the beacons.” He moved toward one of the life vests.

            “Kill us?” Lucas said. All sarcasm had left his voice.

            Now it was the captain’s turn to be ironic. “Do you remember what happened?”

            “We were flying to Tokyo in that antique bomber.”

            “Uh huh. And I bet you remember stealing Tim’s chicken.”

            “He didn’t want it!”

            Bridger ripped something on the vest and moved to the next one. “Yeah, and we’re both damned lucky he didn’t. It was drugged. You and I were unconscious when the pilots bailed and left us to die. The lieutenant was just about to tell me how he got us all out of there when I realized I had to take care of these beacons. I don’t want anyone finding us until I know I can trust them to rescue us and not finish us off.”

            Tim gulped despite himself. He’d known something wasn’t right from the moment he couldn’t rouse his friends to consciousness, but a little voice in the back of his mind kept trying to convince him it was all some kind of mistake. The food had been accidentally tainted and the colonel just found him fun to pummel.

            Nations and madmen attacked _seaQuest_ , but that was never this personal. They wanted the po­werful submarine for themselves, or they wanted her out of the way so they could get away with some evil agenda. The crew was always inconse­quential to them. Collateral damage. Even when Tim got kidnapped, it wasn’t personal. Mariah wanted codes to disable _seaQuest_ and Tim was simply the easiest way to get them.

            “But why would anyone in the air force want to kill us?” Lucas asked.

            “I can’t recall offending any pilots,” Bridger said. “So I have to assume they were mercenaries or black ops guys, working for someone else.” He ripped the beacon from the second vest.

            “If we destroy the locator beacons, how are we ever going to get out of here?” Tim asked.

            Bridger chuckled. “Funny you should ask, Lieutenant.”

            Tim bit his lip and cringed. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this. “F—Funny, sir?”

            “I want you to make a call.” He reached over Lucas, grabbed the last life vest, and started plucking at the beacon.

            “You found a radio?” Hope surged. Just be­cause he couldn’t find one in the middle of the night with his blurry vision didn’t mean the cap­tain couldn’t find one in broad daylight.

            “No. No radio. Besides, a radio transmission could attract the wrong people just as easily as these beacons.”

            Lucas piped in: “Got a camera?”

            The captain tossed something light at Lucas, hitting him somewhere below the neck. “ _SeaQuest_ is in Antarctica, pal. I don’t think camera-motor Morse code is going to help us this time.”

            “I can’t see to rig the winder anyway.” At least he sounded like the same old Lucas.

            Capt. Bridger looked at Tim. “Dr. Smith says you mind-scream at her when you’re not even trying. I think it’s time you screamed on purpose.”

            _Great_. All their hopes of being rescued rested on a psychic ability he couldn’t control and didn’t know how to use. “Sir, I’ve only ever reached her when we were both aboard _seaQuest_. I—”

            “Negative, Lieutenant. You reached her when _you_ were on land, over 200 miles away, and _she_ was three thousand feet below the surface.”

            Tim winced. That time, he didn’t reach her with a message. He knocked her off her feet and subjected her to the pain of a GWE weapon. “But she’s a lot farther than 200 miles away now, sir. And even if I made it through to her, I could be mind-screaming our position to every psychic on the planet.”

            Bridger laughed. “ _I_ don’t even know our posi­tion. Dr. Smith told me that you scream messages with words, not feelings or emotions, right?”

            Tim nodded.

            “Okay. This is what we’re going to do. We’ll figure out a message that won’t make sense to any­one but Wendy. I’d still rather take my chances with a few random psychics out there than whoever served as the getaway driver for those hit-and-run flyboys.”

            “Captain, did you destroy the beacons yet?” Lucas asked.

            With a loud rip, he detached the last one from its vest. “Not yet. Why?”

            “What if they’re already tracking us?”

            “That’s what I’m worried about.”

            “Yeah, but if you destroy them, it’ll confirm we’re alive. As it is, they might think it’s just _stuff_ that fell out of the plane.”

            “And it wouldn’t be very hard to trace the cur­rent from where they go dead, leading them right to us.” The captain’s voice was a bit more con­cerned than before. “Do you have any ideas?”

            Tim could imagine Lucas smirking right about now, but if his face hurt as much as Tim’s hand did, he doubted it. His tone was still as cocky as ever though. “We need to keep them ac­tive but get them far away from us, right?”

            “That would be ideal, yes.”

            “What have we got in the way of food?” The teen paused for effect. “Anything a shark would like?”

            Bridger thought a moment. “Maybe not di­rectly, but I might be able to catch a fish that would attract a shark.”

            Tim added his thoughts tentatively: “Wouldn’t the fish work just as well? I mean, a flounder could get the beacons away without eyeing us for dessert.”

            “Good point.” The captain moved toward the survival kit and rummaged through the MRE packs. When he had a few silver pouches and fishing gear in hand, he relocated close to Tim and Lucas. “All right, let’s work on that coded mes­sage for Wendy while I try to catch us a beacon carrier.”


	36. Chapter 36

            Col. Black was not happy. His team had been extracted efficiently from the cold Pacific, given dry clothes, and shown to cramped quarters with small but reasonably comfortable bunks. How­ever, three hours into their well-deserved slumber, some deck-swabber woke him up to ask if there could have been more survivors from _Fifi_. He al­most told the bilge-rat no, but he remembered just in time that the story they were going to give later would conflict with such a response. So not only did he have to admit there could be more survi­vors, but he had to pretend he cared about them.

            The sub captain had a major hissy fit, claim­ing he should have been informed of this possibil­ity when they first pulled them from the drink. Black decided the best strategy was to lie. “I _did_ tell you, Captain. Furthermore, you’re the one with all the sonar and radar on your fancy tug. How could it be _my_ fault if _you_ failed to notice those locators?”

            The captain had witnesses who would refute the lie, but Black could chalk it up to navy loyalty. Once they found the beacons attached to empty equipment that fell out _Fifi_ ’s open door, the whole matter would be dropped and forgotten. For now he had to act concerned while secretly wishing they didn’t have to waste time heading away from any port where he, Klein, and Slate could es­cape the belly of this wretched iron codfish.

            So rather than sleep, Black sat in a stale, claus­tro­phobic compartment near the bridge (or maybe it _was_ the bridge, he really had no idea), lis­tening to the tars babble on about sonar blips and scuttlebutt. Finally, he overheard the sonar geek talking to the captain. “Someone else must’ve picked ’em up, Cap. They were almost stationary until about ten minutes ago. Now they’re doin’ 30 knots.”

            He also said something about not being able to detect the vessel doing the pickup, but Capt. John­son wrote it off as a limitation of the ELR sonar. He was looked relieved the whole thing was no longer his problem. After dismissing the sonar geek, he told his navigation guys to put them back on course for Midway.

            Black feigned ignorance when Johnson gave him the news. “Would it be possible to contact the ship that found them?”

            “They’re probably not alive,” Johnson warned.

            Black nodded, trying to look solemn. “Bodies still have to be returned to families.”

            The captain seemed to accept his reasoning. He addressed what Black assumed was the radio guy. “Mr. Laconte, see if you can hail whoever picked up those emergency beacons.”

            “Aye, aye.”

            Johnson had a conversation with his relief of­ficer and then went off duty. Black loitered around for about thirty minutes, but when Laconte couldn’t seem to follow his captain’s orders, and the new deck officer didn’t relieve him for his in­competence, Black gave up on the lot of them and returned to his sardine sleeping arrangements. He hoped to hell he could sleep all the way to Mid­way.


	37. Chapter 37

            Wendy helped Dr. Morris clear out all his equip­ment from the moon pool area. He was dis­appointed, of course, but he’d also accumulated so much extra video because of Darwin’s help that he took the news in stride and made the best of it.

            She returned to her quarters after that—too men­tally and emotionally drained to function. She spent her water ration to take a real shower, but it didn’t feel as refreshing as it usually did. Just as she was exiting the stall and wrapping a towel around her, she heard it:

            _Wendy? Can you hear me?_

            Tim’s voice was as loud in her mind as had he been standing next to her. Giddy, she answered both with her voice and mind, “Tim! Are you okay? Are Lucas and the captain okay? Where are you?”

            _I’m probably not getting through, but Papa Bear wants me to try anyhow. He and Baby Bear ate some bad porridge and we all went swimming too soon after eating. There’s a Big Bad Wolf hounding us, but he won’t show his face. My dad and Betty Boop might be able to help. Papa Bear says to tell the car dealer we could use one of those luxury models he’s always trying to sell us. Go ahead and put it on or­der_.

            “Tim? I got the message. Can you hear me? Tim!”

            She got no answer. Still wet, she sat on her bed, going over the message. She’d been contem­plating in silence for at least a minute when she heard another voice in her mind.

            _Wendy? Could you use my help?_

            Wendy hadn’t heard the voice in many years, but she recognized it immediately. _Mary Sue Watkins! Is that really you?_

            A half-hearted chuckle. _Last I checked. Your friend can Transmit, but he’s not Receiving you. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the way he was screaming, it’s hard not to. I’m pretty sure that made it all over the world and was heard by at least twenty other Receivers. Of course, only six of them speak English and the rest would probably be in­clined to ignore such gibberish. But when I heard your name, I thought it might be some kind of mili­tary code. Am I right?_

_You could say that._

_Would you like me to tell him you heard him?_

_By the sound of things, he doesn’t trust any­one right now. I’d have to give you some way to let him know it was from me._

_I could establish a connection and let you tell him yourself. It’s kind of like a conference call on vid-link._

_I’ve never heard of that._

_Not very many of us can do it._

_You said twenty other people would be listen­ing in?_

_No, twenty people heard your friend because he’s broadcasting on an open channel, so to speak. With me, you’d have a private frequency. No one will hear but you, me, and him._

            Wendy chuckled. _Tim would love your meta­phors. He’s_ seaQuest _’s communications officer._

_Ooo. An officer. What should I call him?_

_Just Tim for now. I’ll leave it up to him if he wants to tell you his full name._

_Okay. How much experience does he have with psychic connections? I don’t want to give him a heart attack._

_Very little, I’m afraid. Can I talk first?_

_I don’t have to say a word at all. He doesn’t need to know I’m helping you if you think it will scare him._

_No. He knows I don’t have the skill to do this, so he’d just suspect the whole conversation if I didn’t explain._

_Up to you._

_How long does it take?_

_Speed of thought. You’re on whenever you’re ready._

Wendy gathered her wits. _Tim? Are you there?_

_Dr. Smith?_

_Yes. I got your message._

            She heard him speak aloud, reminding her of someone talking off-screen on a vid-link call. “Cap­tain! It worked. Dr. Smith got the message!”

            _It was smart to use code like that, Tim. My friend Mary says at least twenty other Receivers heard your message, besides her. Mary is the rea­son I’m able to talk back to you. She’s a very strong Re­ceiver and Transmitter. She’s making this link possible. Say hi, Mary._

_Hi, Tim._

“She got another psychic to help her,” Tim said outside his mind.

            Wendy added, _You can tell the captain I vouch for her. We’re on a secure ‘channel’ when Mary es­tablishes the link. No one else can hear us._

            There were a few seconds of silence. Then Tim mind-spoke again. _Capt. Bridger wants to know if you understood the code._

 _Most of it. Tell him that the car dealer, er, Cmdr. Ford left Antarctica two hours ago and_ seaQuest _is already on her way. I didn’t under­stand Betty Boop though._

_We didn’t expect you to get that one right away. We hoped you’d figure out ‘my dad’ first._

_Your personnel file says your natural father died ten years ago. I assume you meant Father Baker._

_Right. Lucas used his computer when we were in Pearl. He knew that our next stop was Adm. Overbeck’s office. The admiral has a yeoman named Betty. Someone should question her. Three Ameri­can Air Force pilots drugged our food, smashed all the controls, and then abandoned the plane with us still aboard. We parachuted out. Now we’re in a life raft._

_Is everyone all right?_

_Lucas got stung pretty bad by a jellyfish. His whole face is inflamed and swollen and he can’t open his eyes. The captain has been giving him anti­histamines and analgesics, but it doesn’t help much._

_Tell him to soak the wounds in seawater, Tim. Not fresh water. It has to be salt water._

_Salt water. Understood, Doctor._

_What about you and the captain?_

_The captain is worried about Lucas, but other­wise he says he’s fine. I have some cuts and jellyfish stings on my hands, and a couple of bruises here and there. Oh yeah, and a broken jaw. Nothing too serious._

_You should let me be the judge of that._

_I’d like nothing better. Save me a bed in Med­bay._

            If he was looking forward to Medbay, it was probably bad. Or maybe it was just anxious to be home. Unfortunately, _seaQuest_ wasn’t even in the right ocean yet. _Can you tell us where you are? The plane crashed in Sakhalin._

_We have no idea. But whatever you do, ignore the emergency locator beacons. We fed them to a tuna._

            Wendy and Mary both laughed.

            _How are you for food and water?_ Wendy asked.

            _Life raft has supplies for twelve. We have fish­ing gear and the captain has already proven adept at using it. Warmer clothes would be nice, but we have mylar blankets and ponchos made of para­chute ny­lon. Lucas is worried about the possibility of a ty­phoon, but we’ve had good weather and calm seas so far. If you talk to Father Baker, ask him to put that in his prayers._

_I’ll tell him, Tim. Is there anything else?_

_Will we be able to do this again?_

            Mary spoke up. _I can connect you with Wendy any time you want. Just call me in your mind. I’ll hear you. But don’t say anything else until I an­swer._

 _What if I need to initiate?_ Wendy asked.

            _You can’t Transmit, girlfriend. That’s why you need me. But you have a vid-link, don’t you? Call me the old-fashioned way. And I’ll check in with you every six hours, how’s that?_

 _Thanks, Mary,_ Wendy said.

            _Yes, thank you,_ Tim echoed.

            Wendy felt their link revert to the kind of emo­tional connection she was used to. Mary was still there, but Tim had been disconnected. _Well?_ Wendy asked her old friend.

            _Well, what? Did you lose my vid-link number? It hasn’t changed in sixteen years._

_I think I still have it. But you know what I mean._

            Mary sighed heavily. _Why do you do this to me?_

_Oh, come on. You linked strongly enough to in­clude me in a conversation. You’re not going to tell me you didn’t get any impressions from him at all._

_I wouldn’t lie to you. You know me better than that._

_So?_

_So I got impressions. So what?_

_So… what do you think?_

_You won’t rest until I say it, will you? Fine. He’s gorgeous. There. Satisfied?_

            If Wendy didn’t already know that Mary talked about minds and personalities the way most women talked about biceps, butts, and hair, she might have laughed. _Did you look at his physical appearance at all?_

_No._

_Why not?_

_Golden rule. I wouldn’t want him to look at mine, so I didn’t look at his. Besides, I was too busy drooling over the other stuff._

_Drooling? Really?_

_Who wouldn’t? He’s an officer and a gentle­man; he’s intelligent, compassionate, and humble. Did you catch how little he told you about his own inju­ries? He was blocking so much pain that it was hard for him to even talk about it. Those ‘cuts’ he men­tioned probably need stitches._

_You should tell him, Mary._

_Tell him what? That I could see through his block? He was only blocking_ **you** _because he doesn’t want you to worry. He knows you can’t do anything for him and you’d feel badly because you’re his doctor._

_You know that isn’t what I meant._

_Oh, that I think he’s gorgeous? I’d just embar­rass myself. I’m sure he has younger, pret­tier girls lining up in every port. If I’m really lucky, maybe he’ll need a psychic radio again someday and he’ll call me. That’s all I dare hope for._

_So you think he’s shallow?_

            Another wistful sigh. _No. But as long as there are plenty of women like you, beautiful on the in­side_ **and** _the outside, guys like him won’t have to settle for just half a package. Look, I know you’re just be­ing kind, but it’s a hopeless cause. If Tim has any use for me in the future, he knows how to get in touch. I won’t get my hopes up. No expec­tations means no disappointments._

_Is that what you want?_

            Mary released a portion of the block she held on her bitterness. _Since when did ‘what I want’ ever have any kind of effect on reality?_

            Wendy couldn’t think of anything else to say. Mary was one of the few people who could keep her from reading her emotions, although it didn’t take a psychic to see she’d been hurt. Besides, Wendy had been inside Tim’s dreams. She’d seen what he con­sidered eye candy and Mary didn’t fit the bill. No, it was probably better for all con­cerned for her to leave this alone.

            Wendy felt a chill and looked down at herself. She was still wrapped in a towel. She’d intended to go from shower to bed, but now she knew she had to dress. She stood to start the process.

            _Thank you for helping us, Mary. It really is im­portant._

 _Any time, Wendy. I miss you._ Mary let some of her loneliness slip through for just a fraction of a second, and then that tiny bit of emotion va­nished like the rest of her. Their connection was broken.

            Wendy pressed her intercom button. “Smith to Ford. I need to see you immediately.”


	38. Chapter 38

            Jonathan Ford was long overdue for sleep, but he knew if he went to bed, he’d just toss and turn. His mind wouldn’t shut down. So he took his fru­strations to the gym instead. He didn’t keep count of repetitions nor did he pay much attention to what machine he was using. He just kept moving. He’d worked up quite a sweat when Wendy’s voice came over the intercom.

            He hit the button to answer her. “Ford here. I’m in the gym. Where are you?”

            “My quarters.”

            Jonathan made a mental map of their positions and quickly calculated the halfway point. Then he considered what space was available where they could meet in private. “Meet me at the Mollusk and Crustacean Lab on B-deck.”

            “I’ll be there in five.”

            He grabbed a towel and headed to the mag-lev. He tried to keep his mind open to all possibil­ities, but his imagination kept playing worst-case scenarios for whatever news she had. Being first to arrive, he took a quick look around the room to confirm that no one was hiding behind a tankful of crabs, but the room was deserted except for in­vertebrates.

            Dr. Smith arrived shortly with a smile so big, he knew before she spoke that she had to have good news. “They’re all alive!”

            “You’re sure?” It wasn’t that he doubted her abilities. The military taught people to give rank­ing officers only such information they asked for, so it was simply a habit he’d formed, as a way to encourage people to give him full details. Wendy had never had trouble speaking her mind, but he really needed more than a nebulous ‘feeling’ right now.

            “Positive. O’Neill is a strong Transmitter, which is why I heard him so far away. But he can’t hear me because I can only Receive. I have an old friend who can do both and her psi factor is extremely high. She somehow linked us in a sort of telepathic conference call. I don’t know how she does it, but it works. I had an actual conversa­tion with Tim. All our people parachuted out of the plane. They’re in a life raft in the Pacific.”

            He spared one of his rare smiles on her.

            She returned it for a second, then her smile faded. “Jonathan, it wasn’t an accident. Their food was drugged and the pilots sabotaged the controls and left them for dead. The captain was worried they’d come back to finish them off, so he fed the locator beacons to a tuna. We have no way to find them.”

            “Oh, we’ll find them. Don’t forget, they’ve got Lucas.”

            “He can’t even see right now. Jellyfish attack to his face.”

            He winced and then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. He rigged a camera motor in a hurricane. He’ll think of something.”

            Wendy frowned for the first time since enter­ing the room. “Remember why he went on this trip to begin with? He’s still only seventeen and it isn’t fair to expect him to always save the day. Maybe it’s _our_ turn to help _him_.”

            Jonathan pressed his lips together and nodded. That was too much pressure to put on anyone, and besides, Lucas wasn’t solely responsible for their rescue the last time anyway. “You’re right. Our camera-motor stunt wouldn’t have worked if O’Neill hadn’t been listening when everyone else was cheering. Rumor has it he stood up and yelled for quiet so loud it shocked everyone, including the captain. That was our very last broadcast be­fore the batteries died.”

            “ _SeaQuest_ has never been a one-man-show, Jonathan. The captain, Tim, and Lucas are lost and helpless with powerful people trying to kill them. It’s going to take all of our skills to rescue them.”

            “I know. But even at top speed, I can’t get anywhere near that crash site in less than two days.”

            “You may have to think of other ways to help them. They suggested we question Adm. Over­beck’s yeoman. Her name is Betty.”

            “So my guts were right about Overbeck,” he said contemplatively.

            “No one has anything but suspicions at this point. You still need to be very careful.”

            “So… I’ve got to figure out how to question this yeoman without the admiral knowing.”

            “Tim also mentioned that Lucas used the com­puter in Father Baker’s office when they were in Pearl. He wants me to talk to him. Maybe he can help us arrange to speak to Yeoman Betty.”

            “Yes! Good idea. What time is it now in Ha­waii?”

            Wendy laughed. “I don’t even know what time it is _here_.”

            He consulted his watch and muttered some numbers, obviously doing the time-zone calcula­tions in his head. “You can call now. I’ll send Henderson down to Medbay to ‘reconnect’ your vid-link. It’s just powered down, but it’s an excuse to get her there alone so you can give her the news about the captain.”

            “What can I tell her?”

            “Everything. She, Brody, and Ortiz are the only ones who know what is going on. I’ll tell Jim and have him pass the word to Miguel. I’d tell them all myself, but I don’t want the rest of the crew to get suspicious if we have too many secret meetings.”

            “When do you plan to tell everyone else?”

            “When I have something besides psychic con­tact to offer as proof.”

            She folded her arms over her chest and stared daggers at him.

            He reached for her shoulder. “Doctor, I be­lieve you. I’m risking my career on it. I’ve told those I trust the most. But it’s simply too risky to ask everyone aboard to believe us. If I lose the crew’s confidence, Bridger and the others are sunk.”

            Her expression changed, but he couldn’t de­cide if her resentment was assuaged. “You’re right. I’m sorry for doubting your command deci­sions, Jonathan. See, I told you you had great in­stincts.” She smiled again, though weakly.

            “Forget it. We’re all on edge. Thanks for bringing the news.”

            “You should get some sleep.”

            He nodded. After he talked to Brody, maybe he could manage to sleep now.


	39. Chapter 39

            Nathan hated the waiting and he hated sitting still. Lucas was as comfortable as he could make him. Dr. Smith’s suggestion that he soak his face had helped. The salt water may not have done much in the way of neutralizing the venom, but the temperature numbed the pain and reduced the swelling. He’d even been able to force one eye open a crack, but he couldn’t hold it open any length of time. His vision was blurry, but Nathan hoped it was just because of the swollen eyelids and lack of focus time.

            He’d been tempted to recommend that Lucas refrain from trying to open his eyes any more, but he knew the kid would just try harder if he did. The young genius had been a handful—bored, scared, and coping with itching, stinging pain. As grating as it was, Nathan preferred his cynical, wise-ass attitude to what might happen if the kid realized he could be blind for life.

            Lt. O’Neill had been a better patient, probably because he was too weak to resist Nathan’s pa­thetic attempts at ‘doctoring’. If Tim didn’t take tiny sips of water, he couldn’t keep it down at all, so Nathan constantly pushed him to drink. Tim was so out-of-sorts that he didn’t seem to notice how repetitive the order was. He didn’t ar­gue when Nathan insisted on examining where he’d been “sucker punched,” as Tim put it.

            The captain had seen enough drunken sailors and bar fights to know that this wound hadn’t come from a punch. One of those pilots had kicked him, and from the looks of it, possibly set off internal bleeding. The only question was whether the bleeding had stopped. Nathan didn’t think his face bruises were all from fists either, unless those flyboys packed brass knuckles. But there weren’t a lot of sensitive internal organs to damage in the face. No doubt it hurt like hell, and it might leave scars, but it wasn’t going to kill him.

            He needed to do something about the foreign objects in those palms. If only he could get O’Neill to keep pills in his stomach long enough to dissolve and get to his blood stream... “Tim, time to drink again.”

            “Aye, sir,” he said groggily. He reached for the plastic bag, which sat between him and Lucas, and lifted it to his mouth, still not looking quite awake.

            “I want you to try taking a couple of Tylenol. They might be easier on your stomach than the antihistamines.”

            He nodded and spoke weakly, “Yes, sir.”

            Nathan wished he could get Tim to take the formality down a couple of pegs, but if following orders was the only way he could function right now, then he didn’t dare take that away from him. He dispensed the pills into Tim’s hand and backed off in case he needed to go for the side again. The groggy lieutenant swallowed the pills, washed them down with a sip of water, and slowly re­turned to his reclining position.

            “Good. If those stay down, I want to see your hands.”

            Tim lifted both hands, turned them face up and left them hanging in mid-air.

            Nathan chuckled. “Not now. Give the painkil­lers time to take effect.”

            “Oh… right.” He lowered them.

            Lucas whispered, “Is he awake?”

            Nathan leaned in to Lucas. “I’m not sure, pal. He doesn’t look too good to me.”

            “I can hear you, you know,” Tim said.

            Nathan grinned. “Glad to hear your mind is still with us. Are you ready to finish your report?”

            “There’s not much to tell, Captain. I woke up. The door was open and the pilots were gone. You and Lucas were unconscious. The radio and other instruments had been smashed with a sledgeham­mer or something. I—”

            “Wait. The instruments had been _smashed_ , you say?”

            “I lost my glasses after the first punch and there were no lights working anywhere, so I can’t say for sure, but that’s what it felt like. The con­sole itself was dented and you can see for yourself all the broken parts that I found trying to feel around.”

            “Understood. They smashed it. Go on.”

            “We seemed to be descending, so I pulled back on the yoke a little.”

            “You know how to fly a plane, Tim?” Lucas asked.

            “Uh... no. I just watched a lot of airplane dis­aster movies. I hoped it wasn’t too different from leveling off a shuttle. It seemed to work. But we couldn’t stay in the sky forever and I couldn’t land without someone telling me what to do, and even if they did, I couldn’t see the controls and everything was all broken. So I figured we’d bet­ter do what the pilots did and get out.”

            Nathan prompted him. “So you found a para­chute...”

            “No, sir. We all had parachutes already strapped on when I woke up. I think the pilots wanted it to look like we all got ready to jump together, but the three of _us_ chickened out.”

            Lucas burst out laughing. Nathan had to smile.

            “Er... pun not intended there,” Tim said weakly.

            “You say we all had parachutes on? Why is there only one here?”

            “Because I let yours and mine drop to the bot­tom of the sea. I wasn’t strong enough to drag them in the water while I was looking for the raft.”

            “You didn’t take the raft _with_ us?”

            Tim scoffed. “It was huge and heavy.” He shook his head slightly, but the action made him wince. “Besides, I only had two hands and there were two of you.”

            “Then how did it get here?”

            “I couldn’t lift it out of the box, so I tore the box apart.”

            Nathan lowered his voice. “With your bare hands.” _That explained the splinters_.

            “A crow bar would have been nice, but I left mine in my other pants.”

            Nathan patted his shoulder. “And you still have your sense of humor, too. Sorry to interrupt. Go ahead.”

            “When it cleared the box, I sat down and pushed it out the door with my feet.”

            “And it auto-inflated when it hit the water. But how did you find it?”

            “Actually, I found _you_ first, sir.”

            “Found me? How did you lose me?”

            “When I opened your parachute.”

            “You mean you opened all three parachutes?”

            “Well, one at a time. You couldn’t do it your­selves.”

            “I just figured you opened one for all of us.”

            “I was too afraid of losing my grip on both of you if I just opened one. My hands were already kinda cut-up and frozen.”

            Nathan inhaled and shook his head. He was frustrated that he hadn’t been there to help, that he hadn’t been the one to take all the injuries instead of someone else. He cleared his throat. “Looks like the painkillers are staying down. How about you let me look at your hands now?”

            Tim lifted his hands again. Nathan pulled his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and studied his mangled palms. Several areas looked a lot like ground meat, but he wouldn’t mention that to a vegetarian. The right hand was the worst, as it had inflamed jellyfish stings and the rope burns, but it also had the most junk embedded, especially in the thumb and forefinger.

            “Tim, there’s a lot of debris in here. Looks like glass, wood, and even some little resistors or capacitors or something. I’ve got some tweezers from the first aid kit. I think if I get the bigger pieces out and use some antiseptic, you might be better off, but I’m not a doctor. How do you feel about it?”

            “Every time I try to use my hands, I can feel the stuff going in deeper, so anything you can re­move would help.”

            “This is probably gonna hurt.”

            He gulped and nodded. “Yeah. If I pass out, just keep going.”

            It was too bad he couldn’t pass out. It would be easier for both of them. Nathan gave him the next best distraction he could think of. “Okay. But in the meantime, I want to hear the rest of your report. And you can start with these rope burns.”

            “The raft ended up coming right to us and owwww...” Tim couldn’t talk while Nathan pulled on a light-bulb shard, but he continued as soon as the bloody piece came out. “...and I got you and me in the raft. Then I used the flashlight to find Lucas. I figured rowing to him would be fas—iiiiiii...” He closed his eyes and grimaced hard as the captain dug around a splinter, trying to get a grip on it.

            The captain noticed Lucas was clenching his fists and cringing every time Tim cried out. _Good. It’s about time he thought about someone besides himself_.

            Nathan pulled the splinter out, mumbling, “That was a nasty little bugger.”

            After a deep, shuddering breath, Tim tried to talk again. “I used the frying pan as an oar and I tied the rope around my wrist so it wouldn’t get lost.”

            “You rowed with your hands like this?”

            Tim shrugged. “It was either that or swim and I thought bringing the boat to Lucas would be faster.”

            “Good thinking.”

            “The truth is, I didn’t think that much about anything, sir, I just reacted.”

            “Sounds to me like you were thinking just fine. Lucas and I would both be dead if not for your quick thinking and acting.”

            Lucas added, “You’re a hero.”

            Tim looked like he was going to deny it, so Nathan chose that moment to go in after a tiny, torpedo-shaped piece of circuitry with wires sticking out one end.

            Tim gasped and jerked his head back, grind­ing his teeth. But that must have hurt his jaw, so he beat on the raft with the side of his free hand.

            “Sorry about that,” Nathan said sincerely. He didn’t enjoy inflicting pain, but he had chosen the timing for a rather unsympathetic reason. This was no time for modesty and he didn’t want to hear it or argue about it.

            Tim could barely manage a nod in reply.

            “So you got all our wet clothes off and got us wrapped in space blankets and then what?”

            “Then I passed out,” Tim grunted through clenched teeth.

            “I found wrappers for gel warmers. Where did those go?” Nathan was only nominally interested in the heat packs. But he had to find something to keep Tim’s mind off all the torture he was putting him through.

            “I can answer that,” Lucas said. “There were like twenty-five of those under my blanket. You gave every heat pack on the raft to _me_ , didn’t you?”

            “You were exposed to the freezing water the longest,” Tim choked out.

            Nathan remembered that Tim’s first indepen­dent thought had been panic over Lucas. He’d been so afraid Lucas was going to die of hypo­thermia that he hadn’t spared a single warmer on anyone else. Tim might be unsure of _himself_ , but in the midst of chaos, he had rightly discerned what was most important. Appreciation for his lieutenant swelled anew, but he wouldn’t mention it in front of Lucas. If the teen wanted to thank Tim, it should be his own idea. He’d do his thanking in private.

            “Why does a life raft have a frying pan any­way?” Lucas asked. “MRE’s aren’t supposed to need cooking and it’s not like we could have a campfire.”

            “Maybe they think we’ll find land,” Tim said weakly.

            Lucas scoffed.

            The captain nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a possibility. But I think it’s so we don’t have to eat our fish raw. They put fishing gear in here and canned chafing fuel to cook with.”

            Lucas lifted one of the gel packs, now cold. “Captain, does it say on here what these things have inside?”

            Nathan took the pack from Lucas, but there were no markings of any kind on it other than “Do not eat contents.” He reached for one of the empty wrappers and read the fine print. “It says they have sodium acetate inside. Why?”

            “Yes! They’re rechargeable. If we can boil them a little, the crystals will return to supersatu­rated solution, just like they were before. The crystallization process is what gives off heat. If we add heat now, then they’ll be ready to use if we need them again.”

            The wrapper confirmed what Lucas had just said about recharging, but there was no reason to tell him that. “That’s good to know, pal. And look, you didn’t even need a computer.” He patted the teen on the shoulder.

            Lucas smirked, which really looked odd on his sting-deformed face. “Chem 101.”

            “I’ll start cooking heat packs after I get done picking on O’Neill. You still with us, Tim?”

            “No, I swam away an hour ago.”

            “Marooned with a couple of comedians,” Na­than muttered. He pulled another hunk of wood out of Tim’s hand, but he barely flinched. Maybe the Tylenol was doing some good. He grabbed what looked like a small bit of glass, but when it cleared the flesh, it was a lot bigger than he’d rea­lized, and blood started to flow. “Oops. I got a bleeder.” He grabbed a cotton ball and placed it against the flow. “Sorry, this is gonna hurt.” Na­than pressed hard on the cotton with his thumb.

            Tim squeezed his eyes shut and grunted a lit­tle. He looked like he wanted to escape his own skin. Nathan couldn’t say he blamed him; he was pushing rather firmly on nasty-looking wounds. However, the cotton was becoming more satu­rated underneath his thumb. The last thing he wanted to think about was attempting to sew any­thing together in a setting like this, without any anesthesia. But if he couldn’t stop the bleeding...

            “Is it working?” Lucas whispered. It didn’t sound like he was trying to keep Tim from hear­ing. Rather, he was trying not to break his con­centration.

            _Stay positive. They take cues from me_. “Not yet.”

            Lucas spoke a little louder. “Is there a styptic pencil in the first aid kit? It’s a hemostatic agent.”

            Nathan gave him a stare, but of course, he couldn’t see it. Lucas did recognize the hesitation though.

            “It stops bleeding. Looks like a white crayon.”

            “Yeah, I think there was. Come here, give me your thumb.” He grabbed the kid’s hand and ma­neuvered his thumb into place where his had been holding pressure on Tim’s palm. “Hold that while I find it.”

            “Got it,” Lucas said.

            Nathan had taken out cotton, gauze, and some antiseptic, but he’d left the rest of the first aid kit a few feet away. He jumped up to find the white stick in clear plastic he’d seen when he did in­ventory. It wasn’t marked with any instructions. If Lucas hadn’t known what to do with it, he’d never have guessed its use. It was now at the bottom of the box where he grabbed it and hurried back. “What do I do with this thing?”

            “When I take my thumb off, touch the styptic pencil to the wound. I watched Dr. Westphalen do it a couple of times. It’s really cool.”

            Nathan had a hard time believing a crayon was going to stop the gusher he’d started, but Lu­cas wouldn’t intentionally steer him wrong, and besides, it couldn’t do any worse than pressing on the thing and adding to Tim’s pain. He put his hand over Lucas’s, so he knew he was there and so he wouldn’t remove the pressure before he was ready. “Okay... now.”

            Lucas removed his thumb and Nathan re­moved the bloody cotton ball. He stuck the styptic pencil into the wound.

            Tim yelped.

            “Sorry,” was all Nathan could say.

            “Roll it around, like you’re painting the edges of the cut,” Lucas said.

            Nathan did it. “I think it’s working.” There was still blood in there, but it didn’t appear to be increasing. He grabbed some clean cotton and soaked up the excess blood, then he rolled the stick around some more and finally removed it. Breathing a little faster than normal, he sat back and released a nervous chuckle. “I think I’ve done enough damage on this hand. What do you think?”

            “Feels better already, sir,” Tim said good-natu­redly.

            “Okay, a little antiseptic and then I’ll wrap it up. I think we better consult Dr. Smith before I try to do any more of this.”

            “Mary said I could contact her any time. Should I ask now?”

            Nathan checked his diving watch and shook his head. “No, she’s probably asleep. We’ll wait for the next check-in.”


	40. Chapter 40

            Wendy left the Mollusk and Crustacean Lab feeling much better than she had all day. Though exhausted, she knew it was important to talk to Henderson and Father Baker, so she set off for Medbay straightaway.

            Lonnie Henderson arrived only minutes later. “Cmdr. Ford says you need to use the vid-link. He sent me down to connect it, but all you have to do is turn it back on.”

            Wendy smiled at her. “I know. He really sent you down so I could tell you that I just talked to Tim. He, Lucas, and the captain are all safe. They’re in a life raft in the Pacific.”

            “That’s great. What a relief.”

            “That’s the good news. The bad news is the plane crash wasn’t an accident.”

            “Someone tried to kill them?”

            Wendy drew a deep breath. “It looks that way.”

            “If we have proof they’re alive, surely the UEO could send out a helicopter or something.”

            “We still don’t know who in the UEO we can trust. Both the captain and the commander suspect an admiral is behind this, or at least sympathetic to whomever planned it. If we tell the wrong people, they’ll just go sink the raft. Besides, not everyone accepts telepathic conversations as ‘proof’ they’re still alive. They’d say I dreamed it all up because that’s what I wanted to hear.”

            The helmswoman scoffed. “If you’re going to dream up something, why not dream that they got rescued by SEALs and are relaxing on a beach in Tahiti?”

            Wendy chuckled. “Really. Like I would want Lucas to get attacked in the face by a jellyfish.”

            Lonnie cringed. “Ow. That can’t be good.”

            The doctor shook her head. “He can’t see, but I’m hoping it’s just because his eyelids are swol­len shut. Swelling on the skin will go away event­ually, but if the nematocysts had contact with his eyes, he could be permanently blind.”

            “Don’t think about it. There’s nothing you can do right now.”

            Wendy nodded. Lonnie was right; worrying never helped. Time to change the subject. “How is the rest of the crew holding up?”

            “The ones that don’t know? Great. I think they’re relieved to be getting away from Antarc­tica. How about the science sections?”

            “Dr. Morris isn’t too happy, but I think he’ll get over it, especially once he finds out why we had to leave. Darwin seemed disappointed too. I couldn’t tell him what was going on.”

            Lonnie chuckled. “He’s not very good at keep­ing secrets.”

            “Right. And there’s nothing he can do, either. Capt. Bridger and Lucas are like family to him. He’d probably sink into dolphin depression.”

            The helmswoman flipped the switch under­neath the vid-link. “You’re all set to go.”

            “Thanks. I think I can shut it off when I’m done. Aren’t you about due to go off duty?”

            She shrugged. “A little overdue, I think. But I’ll stay on the bridge as long as the commander needs me.”

            Wendy reached out to touch her shoulder. “He wouldn’t have told you if he didn’t have great re­spect for your skills and was sure you could be trusted.”

            “I know. I still can’t believe he included me.” She headed toward the hatch. “Good night.”

            “Good night.”

            She waited until Lonnie was gone before she brought up her vid-link contact list. Wendy keyed in the numbers, using all the digits necessary to make the call secure. She drew a deep breath while she waited for the connection. Father Baker answered on the second beep.

            “Dr. Smith. How kind of you to call per­so­nally. I’ve already been informed.” He shook his head sadly.

            Wendy forgot that he would have heard the bad news without any clue of hope. For a second, she wondered whether she should let him in on the secret, but she couldn’t think of a way to jus­tify her suspicions and ask what she needed to without explanation. “Father, I have something to tell you, but I need the same degree of confiden­tiality you would extend to a confessor. Can you do that?”

            His eyes softened. “Of course, Doctor. I keep many secrets. What’s on your mind?”

            “Lt. O’Neill isn’t dead. I talked to him tele­pathically about an hour ago.”

            “But the plane crash…how did he…and Capt. Bridger?”

            “They parachuted out before the crash. They’re in a life raft somewhere in the Pacific.”

            “This is wonderful, but why all the secrecy? Why isn’t the UEO sending out a rescue party?”

            “It wasn’t an accident. The pilots drugged our men, then sabotaged the plane and left them for dead. Someone arranged this chain of events and Adm. Overbeck is top of the list of suspects. We don’t know who we can trust to ask for help.”

            “You can trust me.”

            Wendy smiled. “If I wasn’t sure of that, I wouldn’t have told you. Besides, Tim asked me to call and request your prayers. I figure that’s the least I could do.”

            “Like wild horses could stop me from praying after knowing all this! I’m just thankful I don’t have to plan his funeral.”

            Wendy sighed heavily. “If you were waiting for a body, you’re in the clear, but otherwise, you’ll have to go through with it.”

            “I can’t tell his mother?”

            She shook her head. “That would tip off the wrong people. Besides, he’s still in danger and though I hope he’ll be rescued soon, you certainly wouldn’t want to get her hopes up only to shatter them again.”

            Father Baker nodded, but she could see the conflict in his eyes. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

            “Tim said that he saw you Thursday.”

            “Yes, just yesterday. Capt. Bridger asked if the young man…what was his name again?”

            “Lucas.”

            “Yes. He asked if Lucas could borrow my computer. Their flight reservations got messed up somehow…” He gasped. “Lucas said that the flight was cancelled from Adm. Overbeck’s office. He booked a commercial flight for Tim­othy as a backup and then the three of them headed upstairs. The captain seemed to think the admiral just wanted to…how did he put it?...watch him squirm.”

            “It appears he wanted to see more than squir­ming, Father. But we need proof. Do you know the admiral’s yeoman? Her name might be Eliza­beth or Betty.”

            “No, I don’t know her. Why?”

            “Tim suggested someone question her, but it’s too risky for anyone here to call the admiral’s of­fice.”

            “Your XO is launching his own rescue, isn’t he?” He put both his hands up in a halting gesture. “No, don’t answer that.”

            “Let’s just say we’re at tactical communica­tions blackout right now. The commander made an exception for you.”

            “I’ll see what I can do. People open up to chaplains, you know.”

            “Yes, but it does us no good if you’re bound by vows not to share what you learn.”

            “I understand. Maybe I can arrange for her to talk to your commander from my office.”

            “My vid-link will be shut down after this call. I’ll check the messages from your number as often as I can. Don’t call from any other location, or I’ll have no way to know it’s you.”

            “Understood, Doctor. And thank you for trust­ing me.”

            Wendy nodded. “Good night… er… morning… whatever it is there.”

            He chuckled, but there was understanding in his eyes. His image faded from her screen, re­placed by the UEO trident. She shut the console off, first from the screen, and then using the switch underneath the desk as Lonnie had.

            Having done all she could for the time being, Wendy hurried to her quarters. She dressed for bed, collapsed on her bunk, and fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

            She was deeply asleep when Mary’s voice interrupted her slumber. _Wendy? Are you there?_

            She forced herself into alertness. _I’m here. What is it?_

_It’s check-in time. I have someone who wants to speak with you._

_Sorry to disturb your sleep, Doctor,_ said the captain’s voice.

            _Captain? How?_

_Mary said I could join the conference if I maintain direct contact with Tim. Unfortunately, that’s not as easy as it sounds because there’s hardly an inch of skin I can touch without hurting him._

            _You realize I can hear you, right?_ Tim’s voice was much weaker than before.

            _I’ll take it from here. You just rest, Tim._

 _Aye, sir._ His voice faded, like he was falling asleep.

            _Nathan, what is it?_ Wendy asked.

            _Those pilots beat him to a pulp. He’s got a broken jaw, a missing tooth, and hands that look like hamburger._

_Hamburger?_

_Sorry, you’re too young to remember ground beef. Let’s just say they’re cut up pretty bad. There’s also a lot of debris embedded—glass, splinters, some 1940s circuitry. I tried removing some, but it started bleeding and I’m afraid to do any more without your advice. His right hand also has jellyfish stings._

_‘Nothing too serious’, Tim?_ Wendy scolded.

            Nathan gave no time for Tim to reply. _That isn’t even the worst of it. He was kicked in the gut. I don’t like the looks of the bruise._

            Wendy’s heart quickened. _What does it look like?_

_Black and blue. Swollen._

_Captain, I need you to touch it and tell me how it feels._

            Tim cried out in pain.

            “Sorry, Tim,” he said aloud. _It’s painful, ob­viously_ , Nathan reported. _And it feels rigid._

_Has he vomited blood or anything that looks like coffee grounds?_

_No, just water and antihistamines. He can keep water down if he sips it slowly and he kept down some Tylenol._

_Are you_ **positive** _it was Tylenol?_

_That’s what the packet said._

            Wendy breathed a small sigh of relief. _Okay. That’s good. On no condition allow him to have anything with aspirin or ibuprofen in it. How about general things like dizziness, confusion, and fever?_ What she really wanted was a blood pres­sure reading, but it was doubtful they had the right equipment even if they knew how to use it.

            _He’s in considerable pain and he’s weak, but not confused. I have no way to take his tempera­ture, but he feels warm. He only raises his head to drink, so that’s a negative on the dizziness._

_Do you know how to take a pulse, Captain?_

_Well, I can confirm he has one, if that’s what you mean._

_Do you have a watch with a second hand?_

_Yeah, I have my diving watch._

_Okay. Find the pulse and count how many beats you feel in 15 seconds._

            Silence ruled for what seemed minutes.

            _Thirteen beats in fifteen seconds, Doctor._

_That’s a little low, but not too bad. Keep drinking as much water as you can, okay, Tim?_

_Yes, Doctor._ He sounded too weak to argue.

            _Captain, he might show symptoms of confu­sion or disorientation. Try not to panic and just keep him lying still, hydrated, and warm. Don’t do any more field surgery on his hands. That can wait. Is there anything else you haven’t told me? What about Lucas?_

            Nathan answered, _Your recommendation helped. He’s still in a lot of pain, but he did man­age to get one eye open a little after a good, long soak. He couldn’t keep it open, but you know how persistent he is._

_There’s not a lot you can do for jellyfish stings. We don’t have antitoxins except for the deadliest species, and if he’d been stung by any of those, it would already be too late._

_Well, that’s comforting,_ Nathan said sarcas­tically.

            _All I’m saying is that I couldn’t do much more for him than you’re already doing. With jellyfish, we simply have to wait it out._

 _All right. Thank you for the medical advice. What’s the ETA on getting_ seaQuest _here?_

_Assuming you’re somewhere near Sakhalin, two days minus however long I’ve been asleep. Cmdr. Ford has her at full speed._

_Any idea yet who did this or why?_

_The commander and I share your suspicions about Adm. Overbeck, but we don’t have any­thing solid. Father Baker promised to talk to ‘Yeoman Betty’ for us._

_Very good. The pilots were Col. Black, Maj. Slate and…Tim, did you catch the other one?_

Tim answered in a slow, sing-songy voice that sounded like talking in his sleep. _No, sir, but I think he had the same rank insignia as Slate._

            The captain spoke aloud, “Lucas, do you re­member the name of the co-pilot? The one who stayed in the cockpit with Black?” There were a few seconds of silence then Bridger reported, _Maj. Klein_.

            Wendy reached for a pad beside her bed and wrote the names down. She repeated them back to be sure: _Col. Black, Maj. Slate, and Maj. Klein._

_Thanks, Wendy. Now get some sleep. You sound exhausted._

_None of us is going to sleep well until we’ve got you all back safely._

_Losing sleep won’t help us. You can tell Ford I said him, too_.

            Wendy knew he didn’t normally try to micro­manage everyone’s sleeping habits. He had to be feeling helpless and frustrated. _I’ll relay your con­cern, Captain._

_I know you’re all doing your best. Oh, and Mary, thank you for letting us all hitch a ride in your mind._

_You’re very welcome, Captain. I’m glad I could help._

            Tim and Nathan dropped off and Wendy was alone with Mary again. Mary spoke first. _Don’t even ask. His heart is committed elsewhere._

            Wendy hadn’t planned to breach the subject after their last exchange. She wondered briefly whether ‘elsewhere’ meant _seaQuest_ or another woman. Surely Nathan had worked through his infatuation with her and they’d moved past it. Though intensely curious, Wendy decided she was better off not knowing. _I wasn’t going to ask about that._

_Are you going to tell me why you didn’t share your medical concerns with him?_

_For the same reason Tim tried to hide the ex­tent of his injuries from me. There’s nothing the captain can do. We’ve got to get them out of there._

_I can see now why your commander would risk his career to rescue them. They’d do the same, wouldn’t they?_

_They would and they have. Many times._

            Mary sighed, but Wendy couldn’t read the emotion behind it. _You let me know if there’s any­thing else I can do. Talk to you at the next check-in._

            The connection severed before Wendy had a chance to say goodbye. She rolled over and eyed the clock on her bedside table. She’d only slept four hours. While it was better than nothing, it wasn’t optimal. However, her own lack of sleep didn’t concern her as much as Jonathan’s. Did she dare delay the news she had to give him in order to allow him more sleep? She debated herself for several seconds but came to the inescapable con­clusion that time was too important now.

            She dragged herself out of bed and dressed, adding her lab coat over her clothes. It would ap­pear more professional, which was important, since she was headed to Ford’s quarters. Her first quiet raps on his hatch door got no response. For a moment, she worried that he hadn’t gone to bed at all. A second, more forceful attempt, however, got her a groaning, “Who is it?”

            “Dr. Smith.”

            “Come in.”

            She entered and shut the hatch behind her. The lights slowly brightened on their own. “Commander, we have a problem.”

            “Just one?” he asked sleepily, propping him­self on one elbow and squinting at her.

            “One new one to add to the list.” She gave him a few seconds to yawn and rub his eyes. When it appeared he was awake enough to focus, she continued. “I just talked to Capt. Bridger.”

            “Bridger? How?”

            “Evidently, my Receiver/Transmitter friend is strong enough to piggyback him while he’s touching O’Neill.”

            Ford covered his face with both hands and massaged his temples with his fingertips. This was too much for him to absorb on so little sleep.

            She pulled the slip of paper from her pocket. “These are the names of the pilots.”

            He peered between his fingers. “And that’s a problem?”

            “No, I was giving you a few more minutes to wake up.”

            His hands abandoned his face to reach for the paper. He sat up fully and glanced at the names, then he folded the paper one-handed and lowered his closed fist. He looked up at Wendy and gave her his full attention. “I’m awake now. What’s the problem?”

            “O’Neill has internal injuries. I think the bleeding has stopped for the moment and I gave him strict or­ders to stay still, but any jostling could make the wounds re-open and he could bleed to death. I’m not comfortable making them wait until _seaQuest_ gets there. We need to find someone closer who we can trust to go get them immediately.”

            Ford frowned. “We don’t even know where to look for friendly neighbors, because we don’t know where the raft is.”

            “Then someone has to figure out how to find them. Fast.”


	41. Chapter 41

            Cmdr. Ford leaned into the intercom near his bunk. “Brody, Ortiz, and Henderson: acknowl­edge.” He’d ordered them all to bed six hours ago, and while he wasn’t going to scold anyone for insomnia, he really hoped they’d slept because he had a feeling it might be a long time before they got another chance.

            “Brody here.” His answer came so fast, he must have been sleeping with his finger on the button.

            A few seconds later: “Henderson. Acknowl­edged, sir.”

            “Mr. Ortiz?” Ford kept his voice even. Miguel slept deeply to begin with, and he’d been the bu­siest both before and since hearing the news about Bridger.

            “I’m up, Ma—” Ortiz groaned. Jonathan would bet he just barely caught himself before calling him ‘Mama’. Wendy bit her lips closed and stifled a laugh, confirming his suspicion.

            “Meet me in the ward room in fifteen minutes. There will be coffee.”

            All three acknowledged in turn. He turned to Wendy. “I want you there too.”

            She nodded. “I’ll go by the mess and have them send some food with that coffee.”

            “Good idea.”

            She left his room without delay, giving him a chance to dress. He hadn’t been this worried about figuring out a course of action since unleashing Set on that abandoned mining colony. Yes, he’d brought back all his own people that time, but three world-class scientists died in that mission. It was not the kind of outcome he wanted to repeat.

            In ten minutes, he was dressed in his jumpsuit uniform and headed into the ward room. Dr. Smith was already there, along with Lt. Brody. Both were seated at the conference table, holding steaming cups. The lieutenant started to stand when he entered, but Ford raised a halting hand and shook his head. Jonathan grabbed a cup of coffee and a bran muffin and sat at the table’s head. Brody gave him a questioning stare, but he didn’t speak. Concern was written clearly in his eyes, but Ford didn’t want to repeat what needed to be said, so he would wait for the others.

            Henderson arrived next, looking far more chip­per than anyone had a right. She hesitated at the door, probably trying to decipher the protocol for being called out of bed to attend breakfast with officers during a crisis that could get them all court-martialed.

            Ford solved her dilemma with a beckoning gesture. “Morning, Lonnie. Grab some joe and chow and have a seat.”

            She smiled, nodded, and proceeded to the cart which had been wheeled in from the mess. With coffee in one hand and a small tub of yogurt in the other, she took a seat beside Wendy.

            Everyone was either too sleepy or too tense to talk, so they ate and drank in silence. Finally, Mi­guel arrived about five seconds before he would have been late, breathing a bit faster than normal. Everyone at the table looked up.

            “Hey, I have more hair than any of you,” he said by way of excuse as he hurried toward the food.

            Jonathan stifled a smile. “Well, I’m glad you and your hair could make it, Mr. Ortiz.”

            He might have been tired, but his appetite didn’t appear to be suffering. He took a full plate to the table, chewing on a biscuit as he walked. “What’d I miss?”

            “Nothing. We’ve all been waiting for you.” Jonathan waited until Miguel had taken his seat and organized his food. “Doctor, maybe you should explain our time concerns.”

            “O’Neill has internal injuries. The bleeding appears to have stopped, but rough seas or even a good belly laugh could re-open the wounds. If he’s still bleeding or if it starts up again, he could bleed to death before _seaQuest_ can get there.”

            “We’re going as fast as we can already,” Brody said.

            Wendy was both solemn and firm in her reply. “Then maybe it’s time we found another way.”

            “I called this meeting to get your ideas,” Ford said. “We have two problems: who can we trust to help us and how they can find the raft.”

            Wendy spoke, a little more compassion in her voice this time. “I know you’re all used to being first on a scene, right in the middle of the action. But sometimes it isn’t about the biggest and fast­est submarine. You all know people outside of _seaQuest_. Classmates from the academy. Former shipmates. Childhood chums. The Northwest Pa­cific is densely populated and heavily patrolled by all the navies of the world. Surely, there is some­one there we can trust. It’s time to call in your fa­vors.”

            Ortiz stopped chewing and cleared his throat. “Commander, have you called _her_?”

            Jonathan winced. He knew without asking who Miguel was talking about. He’d had a bit of a sore spot since Katie Hitchcock was offered higher pay to command the _Clinton_ than he was. Not only that, but she’d accepted command when _seaQuest II_ was still a hull and he’d never quite been able to shake the feeling that she’d aban­doned them when they most needed her. He shook his head. “I don’t even know where the _Clinton_ is these days.”

            “Who do you know on the _Clinton_?” Wendy asked.

            Jonathan just shook his head some more.

            Miguel answered for him. “The captain.” He explained for the others. “Lt. Cmdr. Hitchcock was chief engineer on the first _seaQuest_ before she was offered the _H.R. Clinton_. She was in the Yellow Sea, just west of Seoul twelve hours ago.”

            Jonathan met Miguel’s gaze. “You keep tabs on Katie?”

            “No, sir. But I did call up the satellite location of every large vessel in the northwestern Pacific before we went black. Of course, it didn’t include anyone intentionally invisible to radar or sonar.”

            At this, Jonathan arched a brow. “Good work, Mr. Ortiz. Make me a list of everything you remember.” Miguel unsnapped a pocket on his uniform and pulled out three pages of printout which he handed over. Jonathan shuffled through the pages, shaking his head in amazement. “You got course headings, speeds, and depths too?”

            The sensor chief grinned. “You’re welcome.”

            Jim frowned and shook his head. “Sorry to rain on your parade, Commander, but unless that downed plane had a very strange flight plan, Seoul is still pretty far away from where we should be looking. What’s the _Clinton_ ’s top speed?”

            Jonathan shook his head. “It’s a supertanker. She’s a lot slower than _seaQuest_. However, she is much closer than we are and she has one thing we don’t.”

            Brody waited for an answer, but Jonathan said nothing. Finally, he glanced at Ortiz and gave him the ‘okay, tell him’ blink.

            Miguel’s grin spread over his whole face. “A helipad with a state-of-the-art jet copter.”

            “Do you think she’ll help us?” Henderson asked.

            Jonathan nodded but Miguel spoke: “If any­thing happens to Lucas and she finds out we _didn’t_ ask her, she’d probably hunt _us_ down.” He spooned some eggs into his mouth and spoke around them. “It would _not_ be pretty.”

            Miguel had a point. It wouldn’t be so bad to ask Katie. If he remembered correctly, she also had a bit of a score to settle concerning Overbeck. The man had been on her bad side ever since calling her ‘honey’ in front of a group of enlisted men. She’d played the good officer, not saying anything to contradict the admiral, then she’d spent two hours in the gym, punching the bag and muttering under her breath until she collapsed from fatigue.

            Jonathan allowed himself a chuckle. “I’ll give you that. But it would be impractical to send one jet copter to search such a wide area. We have to be able to supply decent pick-up coordinates be­fore I’ll contact her. Does anyone have any ideas how to find that raft yet?”

            After a few seconds, Brody spoke. “We still need another friendly vessel in the vicinity. One that will help us find the raft, but not necessarily go get them.”

            Jonathan grabbed Ortiz’s printouts and started handing out the pages. “Everybody go through the list and see if you know anyone on any of these.” Lonnie took one, Jim took another, and he handed the last back to Miguel, but he shook his head.

            “I already looked, Commander. Anybody I’d know would be a submariner and there are not a lot of those on here.”

            Ford nodded. “Well, I can’t complain about stealth, since we happen to be taking advantage of the same defense ourselves right now. As far as anyone knows, we’re still parked in the Weddell Sea.” He handed the last page to Wendy. Her mother and grandmother were career navy. She had just as good a chance of knowing someone as any of them. He planned to look the list over him­self as soon as he could. It grew quiet as the three readers studied the lists. The only sound was Mi­guel chewing something crunchy. Lonnie and Wendy finished first and traded pages. Brody ap­peared to be taking his time, but Ford was pleased with that. The lieutenant had been assigned so many different places in his career, he probably had to give more thought to each entry.

            Jonathan took advantage of the time to refill his coffee cup and grab some of those reconsti­tuted powdered eggs. He wasn’t really in the mood to eat, but his body needed the fuel and he had grave doubts there would be another chance anytime soon. Henderson finished her second printout page and traded with Brody.

            Miguel looked like his eating was finally slowing. He started to think out loud. “What’s in a life raft that we can scan for?”

            _Nothing_ , Jonathan thought, but he was careful not to voice it. They didn’t need his negative atti­tude right now.

            Wendy set her printout page aside, frustration written in her features. “Three men,” she said, looking at Miguel.

            Jonathan resisted the urge to say “Duh.”

            However, the sensor chief was not annoyed. “Biologics can be picked up on sonar, but there’s an awful lot of marine life out there too. We need to find something unique about them.”

            “They’re on the surface,” Henderson said.

            “Yes, that narrows the search a little, but whales breathe air too.”

            “What about the raft itself? Can we scan for polyhexarene?” Jonathan put in.

            Miguel shook his head. “Negative. Not dense enough. We could bounce sonar off it, but it’s still too hard to distinguish from a whale.”

            “We tried to use the foil food wrappers to in­crease our radar signature before Hurricane Sheila blew it all away.” He knew it wasn’t relevant to the present, but he hoped to keep the ideas flow­ing.

            “Lucas’s idea?” Henderson guessed.

            “No, actually, it was Krieg’s.”

            “Ben Kreig had a good idea that didn’t in­volve greed?” Miguel asked incredulously.

            “Well, self-preservation is also required to get rich.” Although Jonathan knew Ben could be self-sacrificing too, this was not the time for deep philosophical discussions about old shipmates. Miguel was just trying to ease the tension with a bit of humor.

            “We don’t want them to increase their visibil­ity to radar,” Wendy said, shaking her head. “It’s only a matter of time before the enemy figures out they weren’t in that plane wreckage. Radar is the first thing they’ll try.”

            “Great, we have to make it easier for the good guys to find them without helping the bad guys,” Miguel grumped.

            “You’ve got it,” Jonathan said. It was an im­possible mission and he hated the huge possibility of failure which loomed over their heads. But Capt. Bridger wouldn’t give up, no matter how impossible it looked. He regularly expected the impossible and most often, his crew lived up to those expectations. “Come on, people. I know you can think of something.”

            Brody had been concentrating intently on the list. Without removing his eyes from the page, he mumbled, “ _Key West_.”

            “Jim, this is no time to be thinking about shore leave!” Wendy scolded.

            Jonathan held up a halting hand. “An old Los Angeles class, isn’t she? Do you know anyone on the _Key West_?”

            Brody lowered the list to the table, then pointed at the line on which the submarine’s stats appeared. “It’s Capt. Keith Johnson’s boat. It’s old, but not _that_ old. She doesn’t have to surface for air or to receive orders. So why do we have her on satellite?”

            “Indeed. Why would a Los Angeles class sub be cruising topside?” Ford asked rhetorically. “And how well do you know Johnson?”

            “He was XO of the _North Dakota_ when I was an ensign, back before the UEO.”

            “And…?” Wendy prompted.

            “He didn’t like me,” Brody said flatly.

            Jonathan grinned. “I like him already. Where does he stand with the UEO?”

            Brody shook his head. “I don’t know. The United States gave the UEO almost a quarter of its Navy personnel, but less than a sixth of its total vessels, including _seaQuest_. That meant that those who chose to stay in the American fleet had a good chance at promotion. That’s how he got the _Key West_. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have gone UEO if he’d have been offered a decent command.”

            “So he didn’t stay in the U.S. Navy out of pa­triotism, but for personal career opportunity?”

            “To the best of my knowledge. But, like I said, we weren’t friends.”

            “Fair enough. If I give him a call, would I be better off with you at my side or not?”

            “My mug won’t earn you any brownie points with Johnson, but I see no reason to hide, either. I’ll stand wherever you want me.”

            “Very well. Dr. Smith, I want you to listen and get as deep inside his head as your ethics will allow. Do you want to be seen or not?”

            She shook her head. “Not.”

            “Not seen or you won’t do it?” She wasn’t in the military and he couldn’t really order some­thing like this even if she were.

            “Not seen, Commander. Lives are at stake here. You’re all risking careers based on my word. I’ll risk no less to support you.”

            Both Henderson and Ortiz had been quiet, but as the conversation wound down, Miguel’s head suddenly popped up and he exclaimed, “The di­ving watches!”

            “I beg your pardon?” Ford asked.

            “Tim never takes his watch off. He sleeps with it and showers with it…”

            Jonathan couldn’t imagine where this was going, but Miguel sounded too excited for this to be a joke.

            “Our diving watches were specifically de­signed for _seaQuest_. You can’t get them anywhere else. Their mechanisms create a unique sound sig­nature. I think it’s how Darwin always finds us in the water.”

            _Yes!_ This was exactly the sort of breakthrough they needed. “How far away can you hear it?”

            Ortiz shook his head. “I have no idea. The frequency is beyond human hearing, but I can program a WSKRS to scan for it.”

            “We need to know the range.”

            “Then you’re going to have to slow down and come up to a depth that Piccolo can swim out and test it for us.”

            “Does it have to be Tony?”

            “Unless you want to figure out how to put a watch on Darwin. Metal oxygen tanks might inter­fere with the signal. There’s no metal on the raft.”

            Wendy added in a soft tone, “Tony was with me when I had my first psychic impression. He’s been worried sick about Lucas ever since and I haven’t told him anything. Please let him in on the secret.”

            Ford drew a deep breath, straightened his back, and started issuing orders. “All right, Doc­tor. You tell Piccolo whatever you have to, but make sure he knows how far I will kick his butt if he leaks a single word to anyone else. Mr. Ortiz, start programming one of the WSKRS. Henderson and Brody, ready a launch. We’re going to slow down some, but once Ortiz determines the range of this signal, I want to be able to get Piccolo back to _seaQuest_ without waiting for him to swim. I’m hoping it’s going to be miles. Doctor, as soon as you’ve briefed our gilled crewman, report to the bridge. I’m going to try to figure out how to get a secure connection to the _Key West_ without broad­casting our position to the whole Pacific.”

            Everyone nodded and gave a snappy “Aye, sir” to his orders until he announced his own plans. Then he got sympathetic looks.

            “Good luck, Commander,” Dr. Smith said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

            Ford smirked at her but said nothing. Okay, so O’Neill could have done it in his sleep, but it wasn’t like no one else knew how to operate the communications station. It might take Ford a little longer, and maybe he wouldn’t find the clearest possible frequency, but he could do a passable job.

            “Dismissed,” he announced. They were still far from rescuing their friends, but his co-conspir­ators were brimming with hope and determined to do the impossible. _Not bad for a pre-dawn breakfast_.


	42. Chapter 42

            Wendy used the intercom to summon Tony to Medbay. While she waited, she checked her vid-link messages. She recognized Father Baker’s number and quickly hit ‘play’. The chaplain’s face appeared on her screen, looking uncharacteristi­cally disturbed.

            “Sister, about that parishioner we dis­cussed…” His eyes darted off-screen as if he were trying to direct her attention to something without saying anything out loud. “I’ve done some checking, but I don’t think he’s stationed at Pearl Harbor anymore.”

            All her psychic senses told her that he was being watched, or at least he thought he was. He’d purposely obscured Betty’s gender in order to confound whoever was listening. However, she didn’t detect any other falsehood within the mes­sage. Betty really _was_ gone.

            Father Baker bowed his head and waved a cross in the air as he whispered a benediction in Latin. It took her several seconds to realize he wasn’t just droning a prayer for appearances. She couldn’t understand the language, but her senses told her that whatever he was saying didn’t match his beatific expression or his soothing tone of voice. Hope exuded from him that she’d sense his intent and get the message to Tim for translation.

            Wendy grinned and shook her head at the re­cording. “You sly old fox.” She hit the ‘save’ but­ton and switched her vid-link console back off.

            Tony arrived a few minutes later. “You called for me, Doc?”

            “Yes, I did. It’s about Lucas.”

            Tony’s expression immediately reflected his concern. “He okay?”

            “Well, he’s alive and he’s safe at the moment, but he’s not having what you’d call a good R&R.”

            He stared at her, rapt and hungry for details.

            “The plane that he and Tim and Capt. Bridger took to Tokyo was sabotaged. The pilots drugged them and left them for dead, but they somehow managed to parachute out before the plane crashed on some Russian island. They’re in a life raft. Lucas got stung in the face by a jellyfish, but he’s doing okay.”

            Tony nodded, taking in all the information. “Does this got somethin’ to do wit’ us being all radio silenced and full-steam-ahead?”

            _Perceptive._ She nodded. “You’re under orders from Cmdr. Ford not to share a word of what I’ve told you just now. I’m supposed to impress on you how serious he is about ‘kicking your butt’ should you get careless. His career is on the line and mine is too, because I was the one who thought you should know.”

            He held up three fingers in a boy scout oath. “I swear I won’t tell nobody, Doc.”

            “Good. Now, do you want to help find Lu­cas?”

            His eyes widened. “What do I gotta do?”

            “We’re going to slow down so you can take a little swim outside _seaQuest_.”

            Eyebrows shot up. “Swim? How’s that gonna help?”

            “Miguel is testing a theory. He’s program­ming a WSKRS to home in on the frequency of our diving watches.”

            Tony lifted his hand and looked at his watch, then back at her. “He can track me by this?”

            “We hope so.”

            He shook his head, muttering, “Man, what d’ya gotta do these days to make a clean get­away?”

            She frowned at him. “Are you planning any­thing I should know about?”

            He straightened up, flashed apologetic eyes, and shook his head vehemently. “No way. I was just thinkin’ about when I first got here and had stupid ideas. I’m just glad they’re lettin’ me play on the winnin’ side now.”

            She smiled back. “No one else but Darwin could have done this, and he lacks one obvious essential.”

            He stared at her blankly.

            “A wrist, Tony.” She winked and waited for him to get the joke. Of course, Darwin could have carried a watch in his mouth or they could have strapped one to his wetsuit.

            He grinned sheepishly and raised both arms. “Hey, score one for the primates!”

            “We’re still pretty far south, so be sure and get some long sleeves over those primate arms of yours. It’s going to be cold.”

            “Should I suit-up Darwin too? He’s been kinda mopey since we left the swimmin’ birds and with Lucas not around.”

            “Ask the commander, but I’m sure he’ll say go ahead. It’ll give him the chance to get a little sunlight, if nothing else.” Privately, Wendy thought it might be a good idea just for the chance of sharks. Darwin regularly boasted about his prowess against predators and it never hurt to have an extra set of eyes in the water in case everyone else was too busy focusing on wristwatch signals. But she’d keep her concerns to herself unless Jonathan said no.

            “Henderson and Brody are taking out a launch so if this works as well as we hope, you don’t have to swim too far to get back.”

            He gave her an incredulous smirk. Usually, no one worried how far they made him swim.

            “So we don’t have to wait for you,” Wendy explained with a smile.

            He grinned lopsidedly. “Yeah, _that_ I believe.”

            “All right, you should get going. Everyone’s waiting on you.” She backhanded a shooing motion.

            He nodded. “Thanks, Doc. I’m gone.” Tony hustled out the hatch door.

            Wendy left Medbay and headed for the mag-lev. A short ride later, she arrived at the bridge. Though not unwelcome, she knew this was not her domain, so she was careful to keep out of every­one’s way. She caught the commander’s eye and nodded, lifting her forefinger in the ‘when-you’ve-got-a-minute-we-need-to-talk’ gesture. He frowned and shook his head with the very clear ‘not now’ reply.

            The doctor shrank into the background and observed. Miguel was busy alternating between flipping switches and listening on his headphones. Two younger crew members were conferring over the communications station with Ford, not quite bickering, but definitely not agreeing either. Wendy wished she could record the exchange, just so Tim could appreciate the difference evident when he wasn’t there. Then again, he might take it the wrong way and spend all his off-duty time trying to bring every member of the com staff up to his level.

            After much discussion, the three finally came to some sort of consensus about how to accom­plish the commander’s goal of opening a secure line to a distant submarine without being open to any incoming signals. Because the _Key West_ was American military, they didn’t have to know pre­cisely where it was; they had her private fre­quency in the communications computer.

            Ford looked up at his resident psychic and re­laxed a little from his previous frustration. “Doc­tor, would you move over there, please?” He di­rected her with a sweep of his arm toward the front of the bridge. She nodded and took her place directly under the vid-camera. She would be in­visible to the _Key West_ , but she could watch on a display monitor. Jonathan could see her, so she could give him ongoing signals confirming whether the speaker was being honest.

            The young seaman who sat at the communica­tions station spoke quietly into his headset, then he raised his voice: “Commander, I have Capt. Johnson for you.”

            Ford stood tall, straightened his collar, and nodded. “Put him through, Mr. Benson.”

            The vid-screen displayed a middle-aged man in a khaki uniform which was similar yet distinct from the UEO design. He gave a respectful nod. “Cmdr. Ford, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

            “Forgive my abruptness, but I have a rather sensitive question to ask.”

            “Of course, Commander. But first may I ask where Capt. Bridger is?”

            Wendy felt Jonathan’s irritation toward the question, but he didn’t show it on his face. He in­haled deeply. “To be quite honest, he’s missing.”

            Hushed gasps sounded from the bridge and the level of anxiety rose appreciably.

            “I’m sorry to hear that. What can I do for you?”

            Ford looked pointedly at Wendy. She nodded a confirmation that Johnson was being honest, so far. “Satellites picked up the _Key West_ on the sur­face about twelve hours ago.” Wendy felt him yearning to blurt outright, _What were you doing up there?_ But he restrained himself. He hoped Johnson would ex­plain without the need to ask.

            “Yes, we were rescuing some air force pilots who bailed out in the middle of nowhere. They’re lucky we found them.”

            Wendy’s eyes met Ford’s. They were both thinking the same thing. _Could it be?_

            Ford could barely contain his excitement, but he hid it well. He pulled the list Wendy had given him from a pocket. “It wouldn’t happen to be a Col. Black, Maj. Slate, and Maj. Klein, would it?”

            Johnson nodded recognition. “Yes, I believe those are the ones.”

            Almost too quickly, he asked, “Do you still have them?”

            “Yes, we’re en route to Midway to drop them off. Why?”

            Wendy had quite a few sharp words she wanted to belt him with. Ford was making a mon­umental effort to restrain himself as well. “Those pilots were the last people to see Capt. Bridger and two other of our crew. They were passengers on a B-29 that ended up crashing in Sakhalin.” Ford paused to gauge Johnson’s reaction.

            Wendy had a hard time blocking out all the shock coming from the bridge crew so she could focus on the man who stood an ocean away, con­nected only by vid-link. Fortunately, the _Key West_ captain had been forthright and wasn’t hard to read.

            Johnson’s eyes grew wide. He hit a button on his console and barked, “Wilson! Get a security detail. I want those pilots arrested and thrown in the brig. Now.”

            Ford was taken aback. He’d hoped for coopera­tion, but he hadn’t even requested the op­portunity to question the pilots yet. He stood speechless.

            Johnson gave him an apologetic look. “That flyboy colonel can call me a liar all he likes, but he did _not_ mention he had any passengers, much less divulge who they were. I swear to you, Commander, we didn’t pick up the other emer­gency beacons until three hours later.”

            Ford’s eyes lit up. “You had a location on the beacons?”

            Johnson nodded. “We turned back as soon as we detected them, but after tracking stationary for about an hour, they took off at thirty knots. Someone else had to have picked them up.”

            Ford could barely suppress his grin. He was pleased with Johnson’s apparent helpfulness, but Wendy felt an undercurrent of uncertainty. He wasn’t going to fully trust this man unless he had no choice.

            “I’m curious, Captain. On what charges are you holding the pilots?”

            Johnson gave him a condescending smirk. “It’s unconscionable that they abandoned passen­gers to begin with, but not to tell us they even ex­isted? To let us turn the other way and ignore them? That’s criminal endangerment in my book.”

            “If I find Capt. Bridger, I have a feeling he’ll testify against them. In fact, the UEO might re­quest extradition.”

            Johnson winced. “That water was mighty cold, Commander.”

            Ford nodded. “And Capt. Bridger is in excel­lent physical condition. I feel confident we’ll find him and our other two crew members alive.”

            Wendy felt the commander’s sincerity waver when he tried to include Tim in that confidence, but he _wanted_ to believe it.

            “So how can I help?” Johnson asked.

            “Question the pilots, but don’t let them off the hook, no matter what they say. If your charges prove insufficient, I’ll make official ones myself, whether we find Capt. Bridger or not.”

            “Consider it done.”

            “I’d also appreciate the last location you had on those beacons before they got picked up.”

            “Not which way they went _after_ pickup?”

            Wendy felt Johnson holding something back and she shook her head at Ford to alert him.

            The commander adopted a stern look. “If Capt. Bridger had been found, dead _or_ alive, I’d have been notified. I think the only thing that got picked up was an empty lifejacket.”

            Johnson took this in thoughtfully and grinned. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not interested be­cause we couldn’t tell you who picked them up anyway. We tried to make radio contact, but we couldn’t get a fix and no one answered our hails. But if they didn’t get picked up, surely they’ve died of hypothermia by now.”

            “Not if they were in a life raft.”

            Understanding dawned on Johnson. He pressed that same button and spoke again. “Sonar: Conn.” He got an acknowledgement, then he said, “Taylor, get over here. I’ve got Cmdr. Ford from _sea­Quest_ on the line. He needs all your data from tracking those emergency locator beacons.”

            Ford tilted his head and almost smiled. “Thank you.”

            “Any time, Commander.” A short man in a light blue shirt arrived at Johnson’s side. “This is Sonar Specialist Gary Taylor. He logged the con­tact on Extreme Long Range Sonar.” He turned slightly to address Taylor, but he didn’t lower his voice. “Give the commander anything he needs.”

            “Aye, sir,” Taylor said to his captain. He turned to the vid-link camera and nodded a greet­ing. “Can I send you the data directly?”

            Ford looked toward the communications sta­tion. “Mr. Benson?”

            “Uh, I think so, sir,” Benson said. He was a lot more uncertain than he sounded.

            Ford drew a deep breath. “I apologize. The other two men who are missing are our head of communi­cations and our chief computer analyst. We’re a little lost without them.”

            Taylor paid no attention to Ford’s embarrass­ment. His attention was on Benson. “Lemme try and send it by G12 datalink. If you don’t get it, we’ll try something else.”

            Benson nodded emphatically, his relief pal­pable. “Sounds great.”

            Taylor pushed a memory chip into the console and typed on a keyboard. “Okay, it should be on its way now.”

            Benson stared at his computer screen, but Wendy sensed he had no idea what he was look­ing for. She glanced at Ford and tried to give him some sort of signal, but he was captivated by the commu­nications monitor, watching the screen over Ben­son’s shoulder. Something caught Ford’s eye and he reached down to Benson’s station and flipped a switch without a word.

            Benson felt relief and Ford grinned as he looked up toward the vid-link camera. “We have it. Thank you, Mr. Taylor, Capt. Johnson. This is most help­ful.”

            Johnson dipped his head. “Anything for the _sea­Quest_. Please give Capt. Bridger my regards when you find him.”

            “I’ll do that, sir. _SeaQuest_ out.” Jonathan pressed the button himself to cut off the connec­tion. Then he turned to the sensor station. “Mr. Ortiz, I trust you’ll make good use of Mr. Taylor’s data.”

            Miguel nodded. “Aye, sir. I’ll get right on it. Loner is ready for testing whenever Piccolo is.”

            “Very well.” He pressed the intercom button. “Lt. Brody, are you ready for launch yet?”

            “Shuttle is ready, Commander, but we’re still waiting on Piccolo. No, wait, I see him. He’s on his way.”

            “Launch when ready, Lieutenant.”


	43. Chapter 43

            Tony jogged to the Launch Bay barefooted, carrying his diving fins, fingerless gloves, and face mask. He wasn’t wearing his regular wetsuit because it didn’t cover past the knees or armpits. He’d never really used the coldwater suit that they’d altered for him because he didn’t like the restriction. However, the doc had warned him about the temperature and he wasn’t keen on freezing any body parts off that he didn’t have to.

            Henderson stood in the shuttle doorway as if she held the hatch open for him. She looked him over in the cold suit and offered a playful smirk. “What, no earmuffs?”

            He crawled in, smirking back at her. “Yeah, well, if I had ’em, I’d be wearin’ ’em. Prolly gonna freeze my gills off.” He took a seat in the back of the launch while Lonnie shut the hatch.

            Brody called from the front, “Look in the com­partments. Maybe we have a dive hood lying around.”

            Tony started opening cabinet doors. He pulled out neoprene boots and something that looked like a ski mask that went down to the shoulders. “Geeze, this’ll make me look like I’m robbin’ a liquor store.”

            “You wanna look upstanding for the fishies or keep your ears from turning into icicles?” Brody quipped.

            _Keep my ears._ He didn’t answer the lieutenant as he was already close to popping off something that would get him in trouble. He’d have gone out without the hood if he had to, but it felt good having someone watch his back. Which reminded him. “Lieutenant, would you ask the commander if Darwin can come out wit’ me? He’s been all mopey and I already put his ‘Lucas suit’ on.”

            “Sure, I’ll ask him.”

            Lonnie took her seat at the helm and buckled in. Brody told the launch control guys to seal the bay. Once they cleared _seaQuest_ , Brody used a PAL since all other radios were still shut off. “ _Shuttle_ _MR-2_ to _seaQuest_.”

            “ _SeaQuest_ reading you, _MR-2_. Go ahead.”

            “Piccolo wants to know if Darwin can come out and play. He says he put him in his wetsuit.”

            There was a short pause and Dr. Smith’s voice was heard in the background, but indistinct.

            “We’ll let him out after Piccolo is in the wa­ter. _SeaQuest_ out.”

            Tony put his hood, boots, and fins on, then he donned his gloves. He snapped his mask over his face, sealing against skin and making sure the hood was close around it. The only skin exposed was at the tips of his fingers and around his gills. “This is my stop, guys,” he said in a nasally voice that was muffled by the hood.

            “Shouldn’t he have his watch outside his wet­suit?” Henderson asked Brody.

            Brody unbuckled himself and stood. “I’ll get it.”

            Tony raised his arm and stuck it out toward the advancing lieutenant. He probably would have been able to get it done eventually, but with all the gear he was wearing, it was easier for someone else to get around the glove and under his sleeve, unbuckle the watch and reattach it out­side his wetsuit. He let Brody do all the work, then he nodded. “Thanks.”

            “You all set?”

            Two nods of his head. “Aye, aye, sir.”

            Brody held up a hand for a high-five and Tony moved awkwardly in his frogman suit to meet it. “Henderson, bring us about and park it so we can drop off the Amazing Rubber Dude.”

            “Yes, sir,” Lonnie said as she expertly glided the shuttle into a curved path that stopped directly opposite _seaQuest_ ’s profile. She turned and faced the men, then did a very close imitation of the computer voice from the mag-lev. “Open water. Please wait for a complete stop. Thank you for riding _MR-2_.”

            Both Brody and Piccolo laughed, but it was hard to tell with Tony’s mouth muffled. Brody placed his hand on Tony’s back and pushed slightly. “Get outta here.”

            Tony managed an awkward salute before he maneuvered his finned feet into the pressure hatch. He turned the wheel to seal the door and waited for the closet-like compartment to flood with seawater. It was cold, but not as bad as he’d expected and the suit did its job well. His finger­tips were cold, but he could make a fist to warm them.

            His gills were another matter. It was not only freezing on the surface, but that icy water had to flow over and through the membranes in order for him to extract the oxygen he needed. That meant the cold penetrated deep into his back, feeling like his kidneys had been replaced with blocks of ice. _Lucas, you better appreciate this_.

            The outer door opened and he swam out, his movements much easier in water. He swam past the shuttle’s bow and then twirled 360 degrees to look for the WSKRS. He spotted it off _seaQuest_ ’s port side just before he saw Darwin barreling straight for him like a torpedo. A strong kick of his fins was all that kept him from being tackled.

            Tony could just imagine Ortiz catching him on the WSKRS camera being bowled over by the dolphin. He’d never hear the end of the jokes. So to keep Darwin happy enough that he wouldn’t try to send him reeling, Tony humored him and tried to play along. The only problem was, it was often hard to understand what game Darwin was play­ing and whether or not it had any discernable rules.

            He grabbed Darwin’s dorsal fin and let the dolphin tow him for a while. They got further and further away from _seaQuest_ until he could barely see her massive hull anymore. Just when Tony thought they should head back, he saw the _MR-2_ coming after them. He let go of Darwin so he could slow his course, but _MR-2_ mirrored his ac­tions, slowing as he did. _Must be still pickin’ up my watch_.

            He had to trust that Ortiz and Henderson would communicate with each other and move around him as necessary, because he had no way to talk to them. He hadn’t thought to ask for an underwater mic and it would have been hard to use it with the hood anyhow. The shuttle was faster in the water than he was, even when Darwin pulled him along. So, just like the dolphin, he was only out here to play. Freeze his kidneys off, yes, but at least there was no bomb to diffuse or im­possible fortress to try to penetrate.

            Darwin made a quick trip to the surface for air, but Tony stayed behind. Even though he wasn’t breathing oxygen as a gas, his human body didn’t react as well as a dolphin’s to rapid changes in water pressure. He could still get the bends. Tony watched as Darwin jumped a few times, but he returned to Tony’s side almost like he was keeping an eye on him or something.

            The shuttle wasn’t coming to pick him up, so they were probably still taking readings on his watch. His back was so cold it burned, but every extra minute meant a better chance for Lucas and the others, so he was determined to suck it up and keep going. He took another ride on Darwin’s dorsal fin, but he kicked as well to generate some body heat. The result was that they both went faster.

            Tony could no longer see the _seaQuest_ , but _MR-2_ kept pretty close. They passed through a school of minnows and Darwin helped himself to a snack. He was busy trying to nab another bite when Tony noticed an octopus coming at them. Startled, he let loose of the dolphin’s fin.

            Were octopuses dangerous? He couldn’t re­member. But man, all those wiggly arms looked so creepy. The idea of that thing reaching out and glomming onto him with those big suction cups gave him the willies. Was it better not to move so the creature couldn’t see him, or should he try to swim away? Darwin nudged him just in time to avoid a cloud of ink. “Thanks, buddy,” he mur­mured into the neoprene hood. It didn’t matter that it was muffled. He didn’t have a vocorder with him anyway. He was pretty sure the ink wasn’t caustic or venomous, but he didn’t really want to breathe it through his gills any more than any other pollution.

            Human and dolphin took off together, swim­ming aimlessly through the water. Tony let go only when Darwin started for the surface again. This time they were separated for an even shorter period as Darwin seemed to be too tired to jump. Tony had to admit, he was getting rather tired as well. His gills had become numb and the cold spread to the surrounding flesh, even though it was covered by the wetsuit.

            When Darwin returned, Tony gave him a rub on the rostrum, but didn’t grab his fin. He’d towed him long enough and didn’t need the extra weight. They each swam separately, but Darwin slowed his pace to stay close. Tony glanced at his watch. They’d been in the water for over 45 minutes. _How far could Miguel possibly hear a battery-op­erated watch, for gosh sakes?_

“You wanna go in yet?” he asked Darwin rhe­torically. The dolphin gave no sign of hearing or understanding, but that didn’t stop Tony from conversing anyway. “Yeah? Me too. Let’s go see if they’ll let us take a hot cocoa break or some­thin’.”

            They swam together until Tony reached the _MR-2_. When it was obvious the human planned to enter the dive-lock, Darwin left him like a dutiful nanny and swam off in the direction Tony as­sumed _seaQuest_ waited. He couldn’t see the sub, but Darwin could find it with his sonar.

            Brody met him at the hatch. “You okay, sai­lor?”

            Tony pulled off the mask and hood. He couldn’t control his teeth chattering when he an­swered, “Other than the fact I got two ice cubes for kidneys? Yeah, I’m fine. How far away’d we get?”

            “WSKRS tracked you to 68 miles, but the sig­nal was still pretty good.”

            “68 _miles_? We weren’t swimmin’ _that_ fast.” He took a seat on the shuttle bench, and removed his gloves, fins, and boots.

            Henderson laughed. “What, did you think we left the WSKRS parked at a standstill? Ortiz sent Loner in the opposite direc­tion you were swimming, so the testing would go faster.”

            “Well, if I can thaw out my gills, I’ll go back.” Involuntary shivering started in his legs and arms.

            “Nope,” Brody said. “Dr. Smith says you’ve been out long enough. Take it up with her.”

            He wasn’t going to argue until they gave him a gallon of hot cocoa and let him soak his back in a hot bath. Then, maybe, but only if they really thought it’d help Lucas. He shook his head and held up his hands in surrender. “Not arguing with a lady.”

            Brody leaned over and put his hand on a shaky shoulder. “You want a blanket or some­thing?”

            “Naw. I need to get hot water into my gills.”

            Henderson chuckled. “You didn’t volunteer to be experimental for surfing, you got gills to have an excuse to hang out in the jacuzzi.”

            He looked up at the helm. She was too busy driving the shuttle to see his face, but he waggled his brows at her back. “Wanna join me?”

            She shook her head and mumbled, “Men!”


	44. Chapter 44

            Wendy stayed on the bridge while Miguel ran his WSKRS tests. Ford would never intentionally put Tony at risk, but it would have been easy to overlook small things when everyone was so fo­cused on rescuing the captain’s party. So she made sure Darwin was allowed to swim with him and that they didn’t stay out in the cold water too long.

            As soon as the _MR-2_ reported that they were headed back to _seaQuest_ , she figured it was time for her to leave. She quietly turned to go.

            “Dr. Smith?” Ford called.

            Wendy turned swiftly. “Yes, Commander?”

            “Didn’t you need to ask me something when you first arrived?”

            It took her a moment to remember why she’d sought his attention. “When you have time to speak privately.”

            He left the command station and met her at the huge pressure door that separated the bridge from the mag-lev. “Is this private enough?”

            She nodded, but she still spoke in a whisper. “I got a message from Father Baker. ‘Yeo­man Betty’ has disappeared. The chaplain is sure he’s being watched or monitored somehow. He gave me a message in Latin for O’Neill to trans­late.”

            “Well, if we get Lucas back, I’m sure he can track down this yeoman for us. But we’ve already got the pilots, so maybe we won’t need her after all.”

            She nodded, hiding her fears about Lucas not regaining his sight.

            “Tell me, what did you think of Capt. John­son? He seemed almost too helpful, to me.”

            “His anger at the pilots was genuine. He saved their lives and they turned around and accused him of being at fault for endangering _their_ pas­sengers. I couldn’t really tell how he stands with the UEO as far as politics, but he’d rather make an enemy of his own country’s air force than the UEO.”

            “Smart man. When was the last time the air force ever rescued a downed submarine?”

            “Exactly. He’s a small fish in a big pond and he knows it, but he’s a man of principle.”

            “Understood. Thank you, Doctor. I need you to contact the captain immediately and get their watches submerged so we can organize a search. Ask him if they’ve done any rowing or if they’ve just floated with the currents. Once we know that, we can backtrack from the _Key West_ ’s beacon data to determine a search grid.”

            “I need to use my vid-link in order to contact my friend ahead of schedule.”

            “You’re cleared.”

            “I’ll get right on it, but would someone page me when the launch gets back? I want to monitor Piccolo’s gills for hypothermic distress.”

            “How about I send him straight to Medbay?”

            Wendy nodded. “That’ll work. Is there any­thing else, Commander?”

            “No. Keep me informed. Thank you, Doctor.”

            Wendy smiled and left. She hurried to Med­bay, hoping to connect with Mary before Tony made it back. She flipped the master switch un­derneath the desk before she sat down and fired up the vid-link console. It took another few seconds to find Mary’s number in her personal files before she could punch in the right digits.

            Only half of the first ring sounded before Mary’s voice came over the speakers. “Wendy? Is everything all right?” The screen was black.

            “Sorry if I woke you. Actually, we’ve made some progress and I need to get in touch with Tim again.”

            _I wasn’t asleep. Can you hear me okay?_ This time, her voice was in Wendy’s mind.

            _Loud and clear._

The vid-link connection severed from Mary’s end. Wendy was slightly disappointed she didn’t get a look at her friend, but Mary had always been camera-shy, so it wasn’t really a surprise. It was actually a good thing they had a connection out­side the vid-link because Wendy would need the console to play Father Baker’s message.

            _Do you want to do the honors, or should I?_ Mary asked.

            Even if it was only a figure of speech—and Wendy couldn’t read whether it was or not—if Mary counted it an _honor_ to do the greeting, then it was only fair to give it to her. Surely Tim would rather be greeted by the woman who found him ‘gorgeous’ than by the doctor he regarded as a sister.

            _I think you should._ Wendy knew she made the right choice when Mary’s emotional register jumped several notches before she clamped a lid on every aspect of herself beyond her voice.

            _Tim? Can you hear me?_

            Mary sounded so angelic that Wendy worried she might actually frighten Tim into thinking he was dying.

            _Yes, I hear you, Mary. Is it check-in time al­ready?_

 _No, it’s my fault, Tim,_ Wendy said. _How are you feeling?_

He hesitated. _Uh, not so good._

_Thank you for being honest. We’ve made some progress at getting you out of there. Can you ask Capt. Bridger to join us?_

_Sure._ “Captain? Dr. Smith wants to talk to you,” he said aloud.

            Almost immediately, the captain’s strong voice greeted them. _I’m here, Wendy._

_Miguel figured out a way to track your diving watches. You need to get them underwater._

_Our watches? That’s incredible. What’s the range?_

_Tony tested his to 68 miles, but the water was 41 degrees Fahrenheit and I was concerned that his gills would be damaged if he stayed out any longer. The range could be more, but we know for sure it’s at least 68 miles._

_That’s great! We all have our diving watches. I’ll get them in the water immediately._

_Good. You might also like to know that the B-29 pilots are under arrest. Cmdr. Ford spoke to the submarine that picked them up and the captain ordered them taken to the brig on the spot._

_How close are they? Can they come pick us up?_

_The_ **Key West** _was tracking your emergency locators until they suddenly picked up speed. They assumed someone else picked you up and they headed back for Midway. They’ve been going the wrong way for twelve hours._

_Damn! Me and my bright ideas._

_Don’t blame yourself, Captain. If they had picked you up before we talked to them, you would have been on the same sub with your assassins and they wouldn’t have been arrested. Besides, Cmdr. Ford tells me that a sub that class can only do 35 knots, tops. He has a line on something much faster._

_Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Doctor._

_Capt. Hitchcock of the_ **H.R. Clinton** _is in the Yellow Sea. I’m told she has a state-of-the-art jet copter at her disposal._

Nathan laughed. _I bet Jonathan hated asking her, but he can tell her that I’ll regard it as a per­sonal favor._ _Chalk one up to my account—no, make it_ **three** _I’ll owe her._

_I’ll tell him. Father Baker left me a message. He acted like his office was bugged or he’s being watched. I think his Latin benediction was ac­tually a message for Tim._

_What did he say?_ Tim asked.

            _Just a second. I have to cue up the recording._ Wendy played the message back in short bursts, repeating the Latin carefully, one phrase at a time.

            Tim translated each phrase as she finished: _I hope that our esteemed lady physician is able to perceive…_

_…that I hide a message behind the appear­ance of prayer._

_Elizabeth, scribe of the admiral, was sent to Gaul—uh, France._

_The trip was sudden and not expected by the scribe._

_I fear for her safety if I ask too many ques­tions._

_I regret I have been so little help in your time of need._

_I continue to hold you and your companions in my prayers._

_Fear not, for God is with you._

Wendy sighed. _That’s all of it._

Nathan replied, _Tell the chaplain that he did the right thing. Tim, what’s Latin for ‘We have the pilots in custody.’? I don’t want Wendy to say that in English if his office is possibly bugged._

_Gubernātōris captī sunt._

Wendy grabbed a pad to write it down. _Say it again, please, Tim?_

Mary spoke in a soft yet determined voice, _Sorry to butt in, but if the chaplain’s office is bugged, isn’t it dangerous for Wendy to call at all? I could deliver the message without anyone suspecting._

Wendy said, _She’s got a point, Captain._

_Agreed, but I don’t want to put Mary on their radar either. Maybe we shouldn’t contact Father Baker at all._

_Nathan, he deserves to be told something. He’s having to plan Tim’s funeral and he desper­ately wants to help. He might try something more dangerous if we don’t let him know._

Tim gulped. _He’s plan_ _ning my funeral?_

_Sorry, Tim, but you’ve all been declared dead. Until you’re safe, we have to go along with that._

Mary spoke again. _I won’t do anything with­out your permission, but I know I can do this. I won’t endanger myself or the chaplain._

Nathan said, _Wendy? You know Mary better than I do. What do you think?_

_If she says she can do it, Captain, then I be­lieve her. Besides, with her psi factor, she can tell if she’s been discovered and take steps to diffuse the situation. I recommend you accept her help._

_With a recommendation like that, how could I refuse? All right, Mary, you’re recruited._

_Thank you, Captain. Tim, is this right? Gubernātōris captī sunt._

_That’s perfect. Do you speak Latin or Italian, possibly?_

Mary chuckled. _Me? No. I just wrote it down when you first said it._

Nathan interjected, _Is there anything else, Doctor? I hate to be tactless, but I think Tim needs to rest._

_You’re absolutely right. Tim should rest. Just one more thing: Cmdr. Ford needs to know if you’ve been rowing the raft so he can approx­imate your location to start the search._

_No, no rowing since we dumped the beacons. The current seems to be mostly west, but I haven’t paid it a lot of attention. Tell everyone I appre­ciate their good work. Bridger out._

Wendy felt Tim and Nathan drop off. _That was really nice of you to offer to talk to Father Baker for us, Mary._

_It’s no big deal, really. I’ll call him up, put up some generic photo, and pretend to be his high school sweetheart or something. Maybe I’ll do my ‘Valley Girl’ impression. “Like, oh my gosh, I’m just, like, so happy to like, talk to you.”_

Wendy laughed. _Be careful. He might just hang up before you get to the message._

_A priest, hang up? I don’t think so. But I get your point. He has to be paying enough attention that he can remember the words after the call is over. He’ll need to piece it together later._

_Well, Father Baker can pour on the theatrics pretty well himself. Just be careful not to mention_ **seaQuest** _or any of our names._

_Your name is Smith! How much more common could it get? Tim is very common too, and I don’t even_ **know** _his last name._

_You’re right. What was I thinking? You’re smart enough to figure this out without me. Let me give you his vid-link number._ Wendy still had his message on the screen, so it took only one keys­troke to display the originating number. She read it off slowly.

            _Got it. Promise to let me know how this turns out even if you don’t need me to contact Tim again?_

_Promise. Thanks, Mary._

_Bye, Wendy._

Wendy opened her eyes to find Tony standing near her desk, water dripping off his wetsuit. “Have you been waiting long?”

            “Naw. But you looked busy. I didn’t wanna interrupt.” His teeth were chattering slightly.

            “I was talking to Capt. Bridger.” She stood and swept her arm toward an examination table. “Lie down, Tony. I need to take a look at your gills.”

            Tony moved toward the table, unzipping the front of his wetsuit as he walked. “How’s Lucas?”

            “I didn’t ask, but we’ve got to assume no news is good news. How cold are you?”

            “My back feels like it’s got ice cubes in it.” He pulled his arms from the wetsuit sleeves and let the top half of the suit hang at the waist. “You want me to strip all the way or just so’s you can see my back?”

            “If the suit is keeping you cold, then take it off. Otherwise, I don’t need to see below the waist.”

            He left the suit hanging and slipped into a prone position on the exam table. He rested his chin on a fist. The top of his head bobbed up and down as he spoke because his chin couldn’t drop. “I told ’em I’d go back out there after I warmed up some.”

            Wendy donned latex gloves and gently touched the feathery membranes protruding from the vents in his lower back. They felt like they’d been refrigerated and they were tinged purple and even blue at the outside tips.

            “Tony, you’re not a fish. And even if you were, you’d be a tropical fish because you’re warm-blooded. There’s a reason tropical fish don’t wander into cold waters. When a body part gets too cold, the capillaries constrict to protect the most vital organs. But in the case of gills, re­ducing the blood flow means they can’t oxygenate properly. You could start to suffocate and parts of the gills could suffer permanent damage, like frostbite.”

            She couldn’t tell if he was absorbing all the information because his mind was totally occu­pied with two thoughts: a hot bath and saving Lu­cas. She pulled some heat packs from a drawer, bent the metal discs inside to activate them, and then laid them over his gill vents. “How’s that?”

            A tiny moan of pleasure escaped. “Oooo yeah. That’s great, Doc.”

            “I don’t think anyone expected the WSKRS to pick up the signal more than fifty miles away. The main thing is, they know Miguel’s idea will work. If they insist on further testing, I’ll recommend they tie a watch to a buoy or something. That’s closer to what the captain will be doing anyway.”

            “If you say so.”

            Wendy lifted the heat pack to examine the gill. Color was returning nicely. “I think you’re okay. Go use the whirlpool in the gym so you can warm up the deep tissues, but keep the temp be­low a hundred and don’t stay in more than twenty minutes.”

“Aye, aye, Doc.”

            “You’ve been a big help, Tony. Thanks.”

            “Just a little swim, right?” He hopped off the table, grabbed a heat pack in each hand, and pressed them against both sides of his lower back. Then he trotted out the hatch, not caring how comical he looked with his wetsuit half removed and his hands on his back like he was pushing himself along.


	45. Chapter 45

            Tim felt somewhat better after talking to Wendy and Mary. Capt. Bridger took all their watches and, under Lucas’s advice, tied them at intervals along the entire length of rope, using the frying pan to weigh the whole line down. So they had a hundred foot array of tiny emitters broad­casting a hum that only those who programmed their equipment to the narrow parameters of fre­quency and volume would ever be able to detect. _Note to self: Remember to buy Miguel a drink._

            Capt. Bridger had already recharged all the heat packs before using the frying pan as an an­chor on their SOS array. This was fortuitous be­cause the temperature dropped once the sun set.

            Tim could still remember the captain’s voice when they were settling in for the long, cold night. “You’re in shock, so you’re going to take all the heat packs. No arguments. Lucas and I are fine with the mylar.”

            Tim wondered whether they might be lying because they felt sorry for him, but he was so cold that he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He had his rumpled uniform back on, a nylon poncho, six heat packs, and a mylar blanket, yet still, he was just barely short of shivering.

            “These things only last four or five hours, so we’ll spread them out over the night,” Bridger said when they first bundled up. But now none of them had watches to tell how long it had been since the last switch and Tim felt cold again, causing him to waken.

            Moonlight shone weakly over the raft and everything was still fuzzy. Lucas and Bridger were both lying still and breathing slowly. The unused heat packs were right next to Tim’s head and he already knew how to activate them. Tim reached out to grab a few.

            Lucas whispered, “You okay, Tim?”

            “Sorry to wake you. I was just getting some new heat packs. The old ones are dead.”

            To Tim’s relief, the captain didn’t stir. _Good_. The man needed his sleep and Tim didn’t need help. Bad enough he had to do so much as it was.

            “I know what you did for me,” Lucas whis­pered even more softly than his first utterance.

            He had to be talking about the heat packs. “It was nothing. Are you sure you don’t need some now? I won’t tell the captain if you take a few.”

            “No. I’m really not cold. I meant everything else. You pulled me and the captain out of a doomed plane and somehow got our chutes open and then rescued us both from freezing water and all while you had all these injuries. And someone got that jellyfish off my face and since both of my hands are fine, I figure it had to be you.”

            “You’d have done the same for me.”

            “Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I _could_ have done all that.”

            “Lucas, you’re only seventeen. Look at it this way: at least you’re probably gonna get bigger than what you are now. Besides, if you’d have been conscious instead of me, you would have figured out a way to land the plane or some better way to save us. I just bumbled my way through.”

            “No. You didn’t have to do any of it. You could have jumped all by yourself and no one would have blamed you. You couldn’t see. You were all beat-up and you’re not real strong.”

            “Gee, thanks.”

            “Don’t you get it? That just makes it all the more brave.”

            “I couldn’t have lived with myself if I didn’t try. We’re just lucky my efforts actually did some good.”

            “How many times do you fix things on _sea­Quest_ and never get the credit?”

            _All the time_. “I didn’t do it for any credit.”

            “Thank you, Tim.” His voice quivered with emotion. “I’m not going to forget this, and I plan to let everyone know what you did.”

            “Thanks, Lucas, but you don’t have to do that.”

            “You don’t want me to tell anyone?”

            “No, I don’t care. Just don’t be surprised when no one is impressed. I didn’t do anything anyone else couldn’t have done.”

            “That’s not the point!”

            _Isn’t it?_ “It’s okay. You’re thankful and no one else matters.”

            “The captain’s thankful too.”

            “I know. He said thanks already.” Somehow, Tim felt a whole lot warmer and he hadn’t even bent the disc in the heat pack yet.


	46. Chapter 46

            Cmdr. Ford stood at the center of the bridge, watching and waiting. Brody and Henderson were back from the launch and at their stations. The whole bridge crew knew about the captain now, so there was no reason to hide what they were doing.

            Ford straightened his back and projected loudly enough for all to hear. “All right, we know the WSKRS can pick up the watches at least 65 miles away. Dr. Smith won’t clear Piccolo to go out any more because of the water temp. Let me hear some options.”

            Brody spoke first. “We could send Darwin out. He was swimming in Antarctica for forty min­utes at a time without any problems. The wa­ter was at least fifteen degrees colder there.”

            “Why do we need to know the exact range at all, Commander?” Ortiz asked. “Not everyone has the same equipment as ours, so their results are going to differ anyhow. Calculations with the _Key West_ sonar data will only be approximations based on average water currents, which we know can vary a lot from the charts. It’s still going to be a large area to cover, no matter what the range. If we tell them the range is sixty miles but they find them within a hundred, will it matter?”

            “Point taken, Mr. Ortiz. Have you got any­where with that sonar data yet?”

            “I’d be a lot further behind if Taylor hadn’t already run isolation algorithms on the signals. He had them pinpointed pretty well. I just need to run calculations with the currents.”

            “Let me know when you have something.”

            “Aye, sir.”

            “Helm, resume course for Sea of Okhotsk, all ahead full.”

            “All ahead full, aye,” Henderson said.

            Ford felt a rush of confidence, but he tried to hold it at bay. They still had to figure out whom to trust with the new tracking method. Even though he felt he could probably trust Capt. Johnson, the _Key West_ was probably too far away from the life raft to be of any help. Eventually, they’d have to decide who to risk contact with and turn commu­nications back on.

            Not too long after that, there would be an in­evitable showdown with UEO Command. Adm. Overbeck would order him to turn _seaQuest_ around and head to Ft. Gore or some other equally absurd location and when he refused, heaven knew what would happen next. He wasn’t even keen on imagining the possibilities.

            “Commander, I’ve completed ocean current calculations and have a location estimate on the raft.”

            Ford’s eyes lit up, but he didn’t smile. “Let’s see it, Mr. Ortiz.”

            A topographical map overtook the center screen. It was mostly water, with a few nonde­script islands. None of the outline shapes were familiar and none of the land masses were labeled. Ford shook his head. “Where is this?”

            Ortiz grinned. “The Kuril archipelago runs from the Russian Kamchatka peninsula to the Jap­anese island of Hokkaido, where O’Neill’s confe­rence was.” The map zoomed out to show Japan and Kamchatka clearly. Hokkaido blinked red on the screen when Ortiz mentioned it. “West of the archipelago is the Sea of Okhotsk, where we’re headed. Sakhalin, where the plane crashed, is here.” Sakhalin blinked red on the screen.

            “My calculations put them on the Pacific side of the Kurils, approximately 100 miles southeast of the island of Iturup.” The map zoomed back to its previously indecipherable view. A long skinny island blinked when Ortiz named it and then an animated bull’s eye to its southeast pulsated in the Pacific like the ever-widening circular wave caused by a stone dropped in a smooth pond.

            Ford looked down at the communications sta­tion. “Mr. Benson, call Dr. Smith to the bridge, please.”

            “Aye, sir.”

            Benson’s voice sounded over the intercom, requesting Smith’s presence. Ford tried not to think how odd it was for it not to be O’Neill’s voice making the request. The good doctor ac­knowledged and appeared promptly. She even seemed somewhat out of breath. He arched a brow at this but said nothing and removed his gaze from her lest she feel the need to explain.

            “You sent for me, Commander?”

            Ford gestured toward the center view-screen with the map and its target still displayed. “This is where Mr. Ortiz has calculated our men are. Have they mentioned seeing any islands?”

            “Capt. Bridger is the only one whose sight is presently unimpaired and no, he hasn’t mentioned any islands. Do you want me to ask him?”

            “No, I’m certain he would have said some­thing had he seen any kind of landmark. However, the next time you speak with them, please tell them where we think they are.”

            “And where is this?”

            “The Kuril archipelago, island of Iturup. It’s possible the only reason they haven’t been rowing is that they were afraid of heading the wrong di­rection. Their best bet is northwest.”

            “I’ll tell them.” The doctor continued to stare at the screen intently.

            Ford was about to dismiss her, but there was something about the intensity of her stare that troubled him. “Doctor? Are you all right?”

            The words registered on her belatedly and she shook her head as if to clear it. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

            Ford lowered his voice. “I asked if you were all right. When was the last time you slept?”

            “No, I mean what did you say about this island?”

            “It’s just a small island between Hokkaido and Kamchatka. It’s called Iturup.”

            “No, what was the name of the archipelago?”

            “Kuril.”

            Her face wrinkled in concentration and she lifted fingers to her temple. She turned from Ford and stared at the map again. Several of the bridge crew were watching her now, but everyone held their tongues. Whatever Dr. Smith was doing, her concentration could only be diverted by talking to her.

            Slowly, she walked toward the screen as if drawn by the pulsing. The bridge crew watched in silence, a collective breath held as she inched her way forward.

            The doctor spun to face Ford, her eyes ablaze and urgency in her voice. “How close is this to the Kuril Trench?”

            Ford blinked, stunned by her abruptness. He cast a look at Ortiz who nodded understanding of his unspoken question and flipped a few switches to change the map. The island remained and the bull’s eye still radiated in the same place, but di­rectly superimposed on the target was the Kuril Trench.

            Ford’s mouth dropped for a second before he realized and shut it. He murmured in awe: “Right beneath them.” His eyes caught Wendy’s and he knew without either of them speaking that they’d both arrived at the same recognition.

            All this time, they’d been concentrating on the surface because that’s where the raft was. Ford had been agonizing over which vessels he could trust to help them locate their friends so Katie could send her jet copter after them. But they’d all ignored what should have been obvious.

            The ocean wasn’t just a highway for boats and submarines anymore. The whole reason for _sea­Quest_ ’s existence attested to that. There were col­onies and power plants and science complexes all thriving on the ocean _floor_.

            Jonathan allowed himself a smile at Wendy.

            She returned it with eyes twinkling. “I know the director of the Kuril Trench Research Station.”

            Jonathan tilted his head slightly and arched a brow. “Well enough to get him out of bed?”

            She smirked. “It’s a ‘her’ and yes, she’d take my call at any hour.” She turned to Ortiz. “It’s a science outpost, so they probably have pretty good sensors, too. But you’re going to have to explain how to configure them.”

            “No problem, Doctor. Find me the person who dons the headphones and I’ll hold their hand through the whole thing.”

            She nodded at Ortiz and then turned back to Ford. “Permission to make a call, Commander?”

            “By all means, Doctor. Transfer it up here once you have the sensor tech on the line.”

            “I will.” She hurried toward the mag-lev.


	47. Chapter 47

            Wendy jogged back to Medbay even faster than she’d jogged to the bridge just minutes ear­lier. She chided herself for taking so long to make the connection between the name of the archipelago and the trench. How could she not have rea­lized sooner that her old friend’s research station was so close to where the plane went down?

            _That’s what I get for skipping geography in order to ace organic chemistry_.

            She dashed to the vid-link console, turned it back on, and then waited impatiently while it went through the warm-up cycle. As soon as the screen flickered to life, she called up her address book, found the number, and hurriedly placed the call.

            When the ringing stopped, the screen showed only a dark room and the faint outline of rumpled blankets on a bed. “H’roh?” said a sleepy voice.

            “Maggie? It’s Wendy Smith on _seaQuest_. Sorry to call at this hour, but it’s an emergency.”

            There was movement in the darkness, but Wendy couldn’t make out what was happening until a small lamp clicked on. Dim light illumi­nated the bed and its contents: a middle-aged woman and her husband. The man squinted once, shook his head, and rolled over. The woman rubbed her eyes and sat up enough to get a good look at the vid-link screen. “God, Wendy, you look terrible. What’s up?”

            “My captain and two crew had to parachute out of a crashing plane. We think their life raft is right over the Kuril Trench.”

            “That old relic that crashed in Sakhalin? I thought everyone died in the crash.”

            “Yes, that relic. But they’re alive and one of them is critically wounded. Can you help us find them?”

            The groggy woman ran her fingers through salt-and-pepper hair, trying in vain to straighten the disarray. “Wendy, the trench is almost 3000 kilometers long. We don’t have enough people to conduct a search that wide. Why isn’t the UEO doing this?”

            “Because the crash wasn’t an accident. Some­one in the UEO arranged it to look that way. I don’t need you to search the whole trench. We think they’re near the island of Iturup. Isn’t that somewhere in your neighborhood?”

            Maggie slowly moved her legs around toward the edge of the bed. She smirked at the screen, shaking her tousled head. “Yeah, give or take a couple hundred kilometers. Where’s _seaQuest_?”

            “At least a day away. Our Sensor Chief has a method we hope can locate them by hydro­phone. Can you spare a sensor tech?”

            “Sure, I’ll get Daniels right on it.”

            “Can you send someone to wake him now? Mr. Ortiz is very anxious to explain how to con­fig­ure the equipment.”

            Maggie furrowed her brows and sighed even as she nodded. “I hope this earns us a visit.”

            “Anything you want from _seaQuest_ , I’m sure the captain will be happy to deliver personally once you get him out of there.”

            “Hold on a sec.” Maggie turned to pick up something from her bedside table. It looked a lot like a PAL device. She spoke into it. “Daniels? Yoo hoo! Hey, Lance, I need you to pick up.” Maggie cast an apologetic look at Wendy and then returned to her communication. “Come on, sleepy­head. Wake up!”

            The device crackled an answer, but Wendy couldn’t make it out. Maggie spoke again. “Would I wake you up if it wasn’t? How’d you like to help rescue the captain of the _seaQuest_?”

            The staticky response was unintelligible, but Wendy could read Maggie’s amusement when she spoke again. “Good. Get your butt to a vid-link pronto and I’ll transfer you to their sensor chief.” Maggie looked back at Wendy. “He’s coming.”

            “Thanks. How are you set for doctors there?”

            “We have 17 PhD’s, but no medical doctors at all. The best we have is an EMT.”

            Wendy was afraid of that, but she wasn’t going to discount the ocean floor community again. “If Mark was seriously injured with poss­ible internal bleeding, where would you send him for treatment?”

            The man in bed grumbled something and Mag­gie shushed an assurance that he didn’t have to wake up just because they were talking about him. “Closest hospital is at Shinju Colony. They’re mostly Japanese, but a few of them speak English.”

            Wendy chuckled. “Language is _not_ an issue, believe me. You’d trust them with Mark’s life?”

            “Only better facility might be Tokyo, but that’s pretty far away. If time is at all a concern, I’d take him straight to Shinju.”

            “That’s what I needed to know. Do you have a mini sub or a shuttle of some kind you could spare?”

            Maggie rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Kuril Trench is over 10,000 meters deep in some areas. Why would we have any subs?” She waved it off. “Of course we have subs, Wendy. If your people are close, I’ll go get them myself, okay?”

            “That would be great. I’ll defer to your EMT’s judgment, but unless he or she has a better idea, you can tell the captain I recommend O’Neill go to Shinju. We may be able to make flight arrangements for Capt. Bridger and Lucas, but I suspect he’ll want Lucas to be seen at Shinju also and he won’t leave either one of them until he’s sure they’re safe.”

            “O’Neill to Shinju Hospital. Got it.” A tone sounded and she picked up the handheld com de­vice and lifted it to her ear. After a second, she lowered it to her mouth. “Roger. Join me on channel beta-seven.” Maggie flipped a switch and her vid-link picture went split screen with a young man taking up the other half. “Wendy Smith, meet Lance Daniels. He’s our best tech man.”

            Wendy nodded. “Nice to meet you. I’ll be transferring you to Sensor Chief Miguel Ortiz. He’ll be much better at telling you what to listen for.” Wendy pressed her intercom button. “Mr. Ortiz, I have Lance Daniels on vid-link for you.”

            Miguel’s voice came over the vid-link. “Thanks, Dr. Smith. I’ve got him.”

            Wendy nodded. “I’ll get off then so these two can get to business. Thanks again, Maggie.”

            “I’m going to hold Capt. Bridger to that visit, so we should be seeing you soon. Try not to worry, now. Bye, dear.”

            Maggie’s half of the picture blinked out and Daniels took the full screen. Wendy shut her own console off so that he and Miguel would have the line to themselves.

            Though intensely curious, she resisted the urge to go up to the bridge just to wait for news. She’d only make everyone feel uncomfortable by looking over shoulders.


	48. Chapter 48

            Miguel liked this Daniels guy. He was an ex­pert with electronic devices and didn’t need detailed instructions like Miguel feared he might.

            “You need to set the hydrophone to pick up 137 kilohertz, but then you need to run it through an ultrasonic converter to slow it down by a factor of ten. You can hear 13.7 kilohertz.”

            “Setting hydrophone to pick up 137 kilo­hertz… running it through ultrasonic converter… Hey, Miguel, if I route the signal through the vid-link, could you take a listen, make sure I did this right?”

            He hadn’t suggested such a process because it reeked of distrust, not to mention, he didn’t want to have to explain all the steps, but if Daniels could do it on his own, hell yeah, he wanted to listen in. “Absolutely, man.”

            He watched the techie flip switches and plug in jacks amidst a mountain of tangled wires al­most as complicated as some he’d seen aboard the _seaQuest_. Miguel was so impressed, he had a crazy idea. “Daniels, do you think you could route the raw signal before you run it through the con­verter? Just say so if I’m asking too much.”

            Daniels grinned and nodded. “No problem at all. Our equipment is set up to filter out mechani­cal sounds in order to concentrate on biologics. You’ve gotta be better outfitted to do this. Vid-link won’t work as a carrier because of the frequency, but how about if I route through radio?”

            “Yes!” he exclaimed, a little too loudly. The rest of the bridge crew were staring now.

            Cmdr. Ford quirked a brow. “Report, Mr. Or­tiz?”

            Miguel reined his enthusiasm back a bit for military protocol, but he didn’t move his headset mic while he talked. “Mr. Daniels is one crack technician. He’s going to route the signal here through radio. It’ll be just like _seaQuest_ is right there, minus the maneuverability.”

            Ford looked amused. “I guess we should have stayed in Antarctica after all. The UEO can stop building submarines and just mount some hydro­phones with radios throughout the oceans.”

            Jonathan hardly ever made jokes on the bridge. He had to be cracking under the pressure.

            Brody picked up on the mood. “Great, Ortiz, we’re all out of a job. They’ll have us sitting in cubicles in Ft. Gore to analyze data.”

            Daniels’ voice crackled over the vid-link. “Wouldn’t want to put anyone out of a job. I could pretend I can’t do what Ortiz asked.”

            At least four people simultaneously shouted, “No!”

            Daniels grinned and shook his head. “Didn’t think so.” He flipped one last switch. “That should do it.”

            The bridge held its collective breath while Ortiz pushed some buttons of his own and then pressed his fingers to his earpiece and closed his eyes. Slowly, a grin spread over his face. He winked at Daniels and then toggled the switch to put his feed on speakers. A high-pitched tone sounded over the bridge. He pulled his headset off and looked at Ford. “Positive contact, Com­mander. We found them.”

            The crew erupted in cheers. Miguel gave a few high-fives before returning to the vid-link to find Daniels waiting. The techie smirked. “Well, do you want their coordinates?”

            Miguel blinked back his astonishment. “You know them already?”

            “Once you confirmed I had the right signal, I triangulated with two of our other outposts while you were celebrating. Piece of cake.”

            “Daniels, I sure hope you’re not planning to join the Navy or you could take my job.”

            He laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure the Navy is just dying to get their hands on a ‘whale whisperer’ like me.”

            Miguel didn’t think it was all that implausible, but he chuckled politely at the joke. Daniels read the coordinates and Miguel punched them into the map. It was within the pulsing bull’s eye, so he removed the target from the map in favor of a sin­gle green dot. He faced Ford who was still sharing the moment of jubilation with the rest of the crew. “Commander, Daniels got us the coordinates.” He swept his arm to the center screen to show every­one where the raft was and the cheering only got louder.

            Ford raised a fist in triumph and grinned. “Put Daniels on the center screen, please, Mr. Ortiz.”

            “Aye, sir.” Miguel switched the view in less than a second.

            Ford stepped up to speak into the main vid-screen camera. “On behalf of the _seaQuest_ and her crew, we thank you, Mr. Daniels.”

            “Any time. Looks like they’re about 220 kilo­meters away. My boss said she’d get a shuttle out there as soon as I pinned them down, so I better get this information to her stat.”

            Ford nodded. “By all means. We’ll be in touch.”

            Daniels’ face disappeared, leaving the UEO emblem on the center screen. Miguel was about to shut down communications when he saw an in­coming call. Although Ford had been quite clear about the black-out, perhaps now that they’d found the captain, he might feel differently. “Commander? Do I see an incoming call on tac one or not?” He’d let Ford blame it on him if he decided to ignore it.

            Jonathan scowled. He backed up to Benson’s station and leaned over to click some keys. He stared at the communications monitor and then exhaled a sigh of relief. “It’s the _Key West_. Put them on.”

            Benson routed the call to the center screen. The background view was different and an officer they hadn’t seen before appeared in profile to the screen. “Captain! I got the _seaQuest_!”

            “Thank you, Mr. Laconte,” said Capt. John­son’s voice. Footsteps sounded amidst scuffling and then his face came into view. His hair was disheveled and right cheek now sported a nasty red gash stitched in black thread, at least twelve stitches.

            Ford’s face became the picture of concern. “What can _seaQuest_ do for you, Captain?”

            “You can add murder, assault, and jailbreak to the charges against those damned flyboys. But I’m afraid we only have one of them now.”

            “Excuse me, sir?”

            “I tried to interrogate them. They at­tacked me and killed the guard. We killed one of them in the fracas, uh… Klein, I think. The other two gave us a merry run-around and wounded at least six of my men. When we finally found Slate, it looked like he’d just fired a torpedo by manual control. But none of our torpedoes are missing. My boat has been searched stem to stern and we can’t find Col. Black. Maj. Slate is chained to a bed in sickbay, but he’s not talking.”

            “How deep were you when you found Slate in the torpedo room, if I may ask?”

            Johnson growled with frustration. “Not deep enough. We’re also missing a SCUBA tank. And it gets worse.”

            Ford shook his head but remained silent.

            “We found a satellite phone on Klein. They had at least twenty minutes alone in the brig be­fore I got there and when I took _Key West_ topside to go look for Black, we saw a rescue chopper taking off from the surface.”

            “Damn!” Ford exclaimed. “How much did they hear about Capt. Bridger?”

            Johnson cringed. “I told them he was alive to try to scare them into spilling their guts. I’m sorry, Commander.”

            “Well, the good news is that we’ve already located our missing crewmen and a rescue launch is on its way, but this is a very disturbing devel­opment nonetheless.”

            “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for al­most an hour now. I thought you should know.”

            Ford sighed and waved off the apology. “We were running incommunicado, so that wasn’t your fault. Thanks for the head’s up and my condo­lences for your loss.”

            Johnson nodded and extended a gauze-wrapped hand toward the console. The screen went blank.

            Ford drew a deep breath and straightened his back. “Mr. Ortiz, do you have contact information on the _H.R. Clinton_ , or do we need to look her up in the database?”

            Miguel smiled. “I have the data ready to trans­fer to communications at your command, sir. Where would you like to take the call?” He had a feeling it wasn’t going to be the bridge.

            “My quarters. And have Benson watch how you do it so next time, we don’t have to remove you from your station.”

            Miguel stood. “Aye, sir.”


	49. Chapter 49

            Jonathan was tempted to change his rank insig­nia before taking the call. He’d been legiti­mately promoted even if he and Wendy were the only ones who knew outside of a dirty admiral. Would it be so wrong to stand before Katie as an equal? He debated himself the whole way as he jogged to his quarters.

            He finally decided against it; he had nothing to prove to her. She’d taken her own command along with a huge increase in pay. He knew she wanted children eventually. It was a good career move for her. It wasn’t _her_ fault he hadn’t been offered as much for the same position. He wouldn’t have taken it even if they’d offered him double anyway.

            While he missed having her around, she hadn’t done anything severe enough to earn the cold shoulder he’d given her since they parted. It would serve him right if she refused to help just because he’d been such a heel. However, Miguel was right. No matter how angry she might be with _him_ , she’d never abandon Lucas.

            Jonathan indulged himself a peek in the mir­ror, followed by a minor adjustment to his jump­suit zipper and a couple of seconds brushing his teeth. He stepped in front of the vid-link, drew a deep breath, and hit the power button.

            He thought he’d been mentally prepared to see her again, but when those beautiful eyes filled his screen, peering back without the slightest hint of anger, he felt a surge of emotion he couldn’t quite explain. He swallowed hard and hurried into his prepared speech. “Capt. Hitchcock, thank you for tak—”

            “Jonathan, please don’t do that. I just heard about Capt. Bridger. I’m so sorry.”

            “The news is wrong, Katie. Capt. Bridger, Lucas, and Lt. O’Neill are all alive. They para­chuted out of that plane and they’re in a life raft over the Kuril Trench.”

            She listened thoughtfully, visibly relieved to hear the truth. “Lucas was with them? The news didn’t give any names besides Bridger.”

            Jonathan wondered whether Lucas’s parents had been notified yet. Should he try to call them and tell them what he knew? When they got their son back from the dead, would it make any differ­ence? He didn’t have time to think about it now. He looked back up at Katie.

            “Yes, he was with them. He had a little run-in with a jellyfish, but he’s fine otherwise. Katie, we need your help.”

            Her brows shot up. “ _SeaQuest_ needs help from _me_?”

            “We’ve been running all-out, but we’re still a day away.”

            “But surely the UEO has resour—”

            Jonathan shook his head as he interrupted her. “This wasn’t an accident. The pilots drugged the food, then sabotaged the plane and left our people for dead. We’re pretty sure Adm. Overbeck is involved somehow.”

            He saw the fire enter her previously compas­sionate eyes. “Overbeck? Mr. ‘There’s-no-harm-in-calling-female-officers- _honey_ ’ Overbeck?”

            He couldn’t suppress a grin. “Yes, _that_ Over­beck. Wanna help nail him?”

            Her face turned devious. “You bet.”

            “We’ll need your jet copter and I can’t prom­ise the UEO will even pay for fuel.”

            “For the PR-coup of rescuing the captain of the _seaQuest_ , I’m sure my company won’t care, but if they do, I’ll cover it myself.”

            Jonathan arched a brow. Jet fuel from the Yel­low Sea to the Kurils and possibly all the way to _seaQuest_ wouldn’t come cheap. She should have a moment to think it through.

            “What? You know I can afford it.”

            He nodded. “We owe you big for this, Katie.”

            “You let me help take Overbeck down and I’ll call it even.”

            “By the way, I’m sorry. I’ve been a jerk.”

            She smiled. “Thanks. I’ve missed you too.”

            And just like that, all the perceived slights vanished into history. They might not ever serve on the same boat again, but Jonathan knew they’d still be good friends and if he ever needed her again, it wouldn’t have to involve Lucas to know she’d help.

            She didn’t waste any time with emotionalism. They both knew it wasn’t necessary. “Tell me what you want and where you want it.”


	50. Chapter 50

            Tim kept telling himself he wasn’t cold. He had dry clothes, two ponchos, and a mylar blan­ket. The captain was flitting about in the gray pre-dawn in Bermuda shortsand short sleeves, for goodness sake! But Tim’s body wasn’t listening to anything he told it. He shivered for no good reason at all.

            “When was the last time you drank, Tim?” the captain asked.

            “Uh…” He wasn’t being evasive; he just couldn’t remember.

            “Have some water. Do you think you could eat anything?”

            The very thought made him nauseous, but he tried to keep disgust out of his voice. “No, sir.” He lifted a corner of the mylar to feel around for the water bag. He found it and pulled it up for another sip. His hands still hurt to touch objects, but he’d built up some tolerance to the pain.

            The captain knelt at the raft side, looking out toward the water. Maybe he was planning to fish again. Tim wanted to sit up and see what was out there too, but he didn’t have the strength. Lifting his head to drink had taken the last bit of energy he had.

            He wondered how hard this was on Lucas, not being able to see even the blurry shapes he could make out. He rested his eyes a couple of minutes and opened them again. The captain hadn’t left the raft side and by the looks of it, he was hauling the rope with their watches out of the water.

            Tim was alarmed, but not enough to question Bridger on it. Maybe it wasn’t even what it looked like. After a few seconds, he heard a small splash and the captain turned back to face him. He must have seen Tim squinting at him because he held up something round and black. _The frying pan_. “We need to recharge the heat packs.”

            “But the signals?”

            “I never had all the watches out at the same time and I traded the first aid box as weight. I may even catch some fish later.” He looked up at the sky. It was gray and misty, but he didn’t comment on it.

            Tim said it for him. “Looks like it’s going to rain, doesn’t it?”

            A sigh. “Probably.”

            “Could be worse.” Although it was hard to think of very many ways how.

            Bridger chuckled. “True. We could all be dead. Chin up; Miguel will find us.”

            Tim nodded and tried to smile, but his face felt stiff and swollen. He probably looked like he was smirking, so he quit. He had every confidence in his best friend and didn’t want it to appear oth­erwise. “I know, sir.”

            The captain patted his shoulder as he crawled past. A second later, Tim heard the Sterno cans rattling. He could hardly wait for the heat packs to get recharged, but he wouldn’t be rude enough to say so. He lay back and shut his eyes, telling his muscles for the umpteenth time to quit shivering.

            _Tim!_ called Wendy’s voice in his mind. He jumped despite himself.

            His heart was still beating fast when he recov­ered enough wits to answer. _I’m here. What is it?_

_Get the captain. Fast._

“Captain, Dr. Smith needs you,” he said ur­gently. He’d be glad when they could all go back to using radios and intercoms and PALs again. This ‘touch-me-to-mindspeak’ thing was getting tedious.

            Bridger crawled quickly to him and touched his forehead so he didn’t have to uncover any skin that wasn’t already exposed to the cold. _Bridger here. Status?_

_We have your coordinates. You’re right under the Kuril Trench, about a hundred miles southeast of Iturup Island. I have friends at the Kuril Trench Research Station who are already on their way in a mini-sub to pick you up._

The captain couldn’t contain himself and let out a whoop, nudging Lucas awake at the same time. “Get up, pal. The cavalry is on the way.” He was slightly calmer when he mindspoke again. _Tell Miguel thanks from all of us._

Wendy didn’t take time to acknowledge him. _Captain, we just heard from the_ **Key West** _. Col. Black escaped from their brig and shot himself out a torpedo tube. Capt. Johnson surfaced to try to recapture him, but a chopper was waiting. He got away._

_How long ago?_

_Over an hour. Cmdr. Ford ordered_ **seaQuest** _to radio silence, so we just happened to find out when we were communicating with the research station. Black knows you’re alive._

_Great. What are we supposed to do, hit him with our frying pan?_

_All he has is the location where the_ **Key West** _lost your beacons over twenty-four hours ago. Cmdr. Ford doesn’t think he’s smart enough to figure out currents, so he’ll have to search a wide area. Just don’t dawdle when the mini-sub comes and you should be gone before he can find you._

_And if we’re not?_

Her voice turned grave. _Maj. Klein and one of Johnson’s guards died in the escape attempt. At least six others were wounded. These pilots aren’t playing around and they’re not worried about making anything look like an accident anymore. Capt. Hitchcock is sending her jet copter, but they’re a long way from where you are. Her pilot will make radio contact with you at Shinju Col­ony, where O’Neill can get medical attention. Don’t trust anyone who comes from the sky or the surface._

_Understood, Doctor._

Tim recognized that commanding tone. The captain knew they were on their own with no means of defense, but he didn’t show fear. Tim prayed with all his might that he wouldn’t disap­point him if they had to make a stand. Perhaps the two of them could somehow do enough to save Lucas.

            _Tim?_ It was the captain’s voice. His free hand grabbed Tim’s shoulder and shook gently.

            Tim snapped out of his private reverie and realized he’d missed Wendy’s first attempt to in­quire about his welfare. _I’m sorry. I’m drifting in and out._

            _Hold on, Lieutenant. That’s an order. We’re getting you out of here and you’re going to live long enough for me to pin a medal on you._

            Tim wasn’t sure he heard that last part right. Wendy had said earlier that he might get confused and disoriented. It was starting. He swallowed even though he wasn’t using his voice. _Aye, sir._

Mary spoke for the first time. _I’m going to leave the ‘line’ open until you’re safe. You can talk to me or Wendy on a second’s notice if you need us._

Bridger and Tim both said, _Thank you_ simul­taneously. He hoped he could follow the captain’s orders and not die within the hearing of two sweet ladies, but it was comforting to know he wouldn’t die alone in any case.


	51. Chapter 51

            Col. Black didn’t believe his targets were re­ally alive. That gutless sub skipper had been lying to try to get information. His incompetent radio guy couldn’t find the boat that fished empty life­jackets out of the water, so now he was back to pointing fingers and laying blame everywhere else. But when Black briefed General Denton by satellite phone from the brig, the general got all uptight because they never found any bodies in the plane wreckage.

            “This is one sloppy operation and I’m holding _you_ responsible. You’d better make damned sure that those bodies wash ashore providing proof of an appropriate accidental death or they never get found, ever.”

            So his team made a break for it, but it cost Klein his life. Damned tars. At least he, Black, made it off that infernal iron codfish. Slate was probably back in the brig, but that was just tempo­rary. At some point, there’d be a transfer of cus­tody and he’d get “lost” in the paperwork. Lucky dog.

            Black had it far worse. The general pinpointed his location from the satellite phone signal and sent a rescue chopper promptly enough that the submarine wasn’t able to recapture him. But this was the second time in less than 48 hours he’d been subjected to far-too-cold water and his body didn’t take kindly to the abuse.

            After they pulled him from the drink, he was in no shape to go mopping up loose ends, not that he had a clue where to start. They flew him to an “undisclosed location” about 90 minutes away to thaw him out. Wrapped in an electric blanket and guzzling his fourth cup of hot coffee, he made contact with General Denton.

            “My liaison in the UEO says that _seaQuest_ went rogue the minute her captain was reported dead. He thinks they’re chasing those locator bea­cons. They just made contact with the Kuril Trench Research Station. They tracked some odd ultrasonic signal, but it doesn’t match the beacon frequency. I’m giving you the same coordinates they transmitted. Go check it out immediately. You have the advantage of a jet copter, so make sure there’s nothing there when those oceano­graphers arrive.”

            “Yes, sir. Black, out.” When the connection was severed, he muttered under his breath, “Just don’t ask me to get wet again.” Reluctantly, he set the electric blanket aside and dressed. They had an unmarked, heavily armed jet copter running and ready for takeoff when he emerged on the he­lipad of the deserted air strip.

            Black strapped himself into the pilot’s seat and lifted off alone. They didn’t need any more witnesses and he shouldn’t need any help.

            The flight took a little over an hour and a good deal of the time, he was flying above a thick layer of clouds. Black snickered to himself. If, by some freak chance, those UEO pansies were still alive, they’d never see him coming. Not that it mattered, of course. They couldn’t possibly have any defense against what he had planned.

            When he reached the coordinates, he dropped under the clouds to look around. Sure enough, there was an inflatable raft bobbing up and down atop the swells. Three man-sized cocoons of my­lar were lying motionless on the deck. Either they’d already died or they thought playing dead might save them.

            “Wrong, traitor scum,” he spat. He opened fire with both machine guns and riddled all three cocoons with enough lead to kill them each four times over. Of course, that many bullets also compromised the raft, which deflated fast. The general had said he didn’t want anything ever found, so this would work out nicely. Sharks could clean up the bodies and the rubber sieve would be lost to the depths of the Kuril Trench. He hovered patiently to be absolutely certain every­thing sank.

            When all that was left were some tiny foil packages floating on the surface, Black took her up above the clouds and sped back toward the re­mote air strip. “Mission accomplished… finally.”


	52. Chapter 52

            Nathan smiled as he watched a real-time dis­play monitor showing the military jet copter opening fire on the defenseless raft he’d so re­cently abandoned. Capt. Hitchcock sat in the pi­lot’s seat while he sat next to her. No one else was aboard. He leaned toward her, even though they both had headsets on. “Just how close can your camera zoom in?”

            His former lieutenant commander grinned. “You know those satellite cameras that can make out the barcodes on tiny motorcycle license plates from thousands of miles in the sky?”

            He chuckled. “All too well.”

            “Old school.” She fingered a control on her joystick and zoomed in on Black’s face. You could count the stubble on his chin. Katie panned down to the nametag on his uniform, focusing on it long enough that there’d be no mistaking it.

            She even captured his gritted teeth and what appeared to be talking. “The computer can read his lips and tell us what he said while he thought he was blowing you to bits. Care to hear?”

            He had plenty of fodder for nightmares al­ready. Nathan shuddered and shook his head. “No, I think I’ll pass. Just make sure you get all this burned to disc. We can use it in court.”

            She nodded. “You know they’ll just claim it was digitally doctored. Lucas could easily manu­facture something like this.”

            “While he’s blind? I dare them to prove that. Besides, we’ll have corroborating evidence. Dr. Lincoln is waiting 100 meters below to collect everything that sinks. Hopefully, we’ll recover a bullet or two besides the shredded raft. Col. Black certainly was generous with his rounds.”

            “I wish I had some to _exchange_ with him,” she growled. “But this is a civilian craft. We dare not let him see us.” They remained hidden in the clouds, 75 miles away from the military copter.

            “It’s fine,” Nathan said. “You’ve done more than enough just by coming out here and bringing those security thugs of yours. Where did you find those guys anyway?”

            She laughed. “Jonathan predicted that you wouldn’t leave Lucas and Tim at the hospital un­less I could ensure they’d be well guarded. You need to get back to _seaQuest_ , so I recruited a couple of my loaders to come play security.”

            “Thanks. I feel a lot better with them watch­ing over our wounded. But I thought you were _sending_ a jet copter. When did you become a pi­lot?”

            She shrugged. “I got tired of never being able to use this thing because I couldn’t get a pilot when I wanted one. So I got certified. It’s a lot easier than piloting a VR-probe or a sub. No bal­lasts. No worries about crush depths. No biologics to dodge. And ninety-five percent of the time, if you lose cabin pressure, you can still breathe.”

            “And they don’t mind you leaving your com­mand when your tanker is at sea?”

            She smirked. “Didn’t _you_ leave _seaQuest_ while _she_ was at sea?”

            She had him there. “Guilty as charged. But in my defense, I have the best XO on the planet.”

            She didn’t miss a beat. “I have the second best.”

            He laughed. “I don’t doubt it for a minute.”

            Col. Black rose above the clouds and took off. The tiny camera Katie had lowered from her cop­ter’s belly like an upside-down periscope could see great distances, but not through clouds.

            Katie sighed at the loss of video feed. “So we’re just letting him get away?”

            Nathan shook his head. “Not on my watch. Can I use your vid-link?”

            She nodded.

            He punched in the same numbers he’d used at Shinju Hospital to call the one man he trusted not to be in league with Overbeck: Retired Adm. William Noyce. He was retired not only from the navy, but from serving as Interim Secretary Gen­eral of the UEO. He had connections not even McGath had. He and Nathan went _way_ back.

            “Bill? You got him yet?”

            “We’ve got him on radar. He’ll be in range of our weapons in another forty-five seconds. You need him alive?”

            Nathan only wavered a second. He didn’t gen­erally wish anyone dead, but Black had tried to kill Lucas, not to mention him and Tim. Someone on the _Key West_ had already died trying to hold him in custody. Guys like that wouldn’t hesitate to kill again and again. Alive, they had a better chance at nailing Overbeck, but Nathan wasn’t willing to risk another life for that. “I think we got enough footage and physical evidence to clean up the mess. Just don’t let him kill anyone else.”

            “We’ve got it covered. Noyce out.”

            Nathan cast a sheepish look at Katie. “He told me he’d have a whole fleet of AH-95’s waiting. He’d better deliver.”

            She shook her head, her lips forming the hint of an involuntary smile. “I’ve missed working with you, sir.”

            He smiled. “The feeling’s mutual, Captain. Thanks for the assist. You ever need _anything_ , you call us.”

            She nodded. “Did you want to stay in the area until Adm. Noyce confirms he’s taken him down?”

            He was slightly worried that the squadron might need backup, but he would never allow Ka­tie to fly in there when she had no weapons, even on a rescue. “No, I think I’d better get back to _seaQuest_. We’re supposed to be counting pen­guins or something. You don’t have to take me all the way, you know. Drop me off in Tokyo and I think I can bum a ride home.”

            “I would, sir, but Miguel promised to make me some flan. I got my taste buds all ready for it.”

            _Yeah, right._ _You’re doing all this for some Cuban pudding._ He knew she didn’t really expect him to believe it. She had never seen the _seaQuest II_ and it had doubtless been a long time since she’d seen some of her old friends. “Well, we can’t disappoint Chef Ortiz, now, can we?” He changed his tone from joking to serious. “You know you’re welcome any time, Katie.”

            She nodded but he could tell she wouldn’t stay long, nor would she be making regular visits. She had too much responsibility of her own now. He understood her burden all too well and he wouldn’t compound it by laying extra guilt. This visit was a rare gift and he’d treat it as such.

            “What’s our ETA?”

            She chuckled. “That depends. Jonathan has _seaQuest_ under tactical radio silence and he didn’t give me any rendezvous coordinates.”

            “I guess it’s time to see if my message got through.” Right before Tim was whisked off to surgery, Nathan had asked Wendy to relay the message that Cmdr. Ford could stand down from incommunicado as long as he didn’t take any calls originating from Pearl.

            Katie looked confused and he smiled. “Sorry, can’t tell you how. Classified.”

            “Oh, your telepathic chief physician?” She smiled sweetly.

            It only stood to reason that Jonathan had given her just as much information as his present crew. He wasn’t worried in the least that she’d abuse any secrets. But it did strike him as ironic that Wendy got the credit for their special com­munication method when she couldn’t even in­itiate contact without calling her friend by con­ventional means. No one really understood Mary and O’Neill’s roles and he decided then and there to keep it that way.

            He smiled back. “Not much gets by you, does it?”

            “You’d have to ask my crew, but I don’t think so, no, sir.”

            He punched in the vid-link codes to call his boat and held his breath. He had no bright ideas how to make contact if Ford had deemed silence necessary for some other reason. When they didn’t get the standard ‘unavailable or out of range’ recording, he exhaled and waited for the call to connect.

            “May I, sir?”

            “Of course.” It was her jet copter and her vid-link. He turned the screen so that the camera would focus on her and she could see who she was speaking to.

            “This is _seaQuest_.” Nathan could tell by the voice that it was Piccolo. “Please identify.”

            “This is _Gazelle One_ attached to the _H.R. Clin­ton_ , Capt. Katherine Hitchcock requesting coordinates to rendezvous.”

            Piccolo didn’t have time to relay a message before Ford’s voice took over. “Good to hear from you, Captain. How’d it go?”

            “I think I’ll let my passenger answer that. Cap­tain?” She turned the vid-link on Nathan.

            The bridge of the submarine erupted in cheers and Ford spared one of his rare smiles. “It’s very good to see you, sir.”

            “The feeling is mutual, Commander. Thank you all for your outstanding efforts in bringing me back from the dead.”

            “It wouldn’t be the same here without you.”

            Nathan nodded. “If you’ll tell us where to find you and come topside so Capt. Hitchcock can land, I hear Mr. Ortiz is making flan and I haven’t had anything but drugged chicken and MREs for days now.”

            Ford nodded, still beaming that grin. “Mr. Pic­colo, please transmit our coordinates to the _Gazelle One_.”

            “Aye, aye, sir!” Piccolo grinned widely and typed into the keyboard at the communications station. The coordinates appeared in text at the bottom of the vid-link screen.

            Nathan read them back to confirm and ended with, “Thank you, Mr. Piccolo. When Cmdr. Ford can spare you, there’s someone at Shinju Hospital who could use a friendly voice right now. Do me a favor and check on Lucas.” The poor kid couldn’t even communicate with the nurses while Tim was in surgery.

            “And tell him Katie said hi,” she blurted out.

            Piccolo’s brows shot up at this, but he didn’t question his instructions. He did look a little be­fuddled on how to respond and finally blurted out, “Aye, Captain...and Captain.”

            Katie entered the coordinates into her naviga­tional computer and then announced, “ETA for rendezvous: four hours, eleven minutes.”

            Ford sucked in rapidly through pursed lips. “You never did take anything slow, did you?”

            She smirked. “Couldn’t. Not when I had to keep up with _you_.”

            Ford gave her a gracious nod. “We’ll see you at the rendezvous. _SeaQuest_ out.” The vid-link went blank, leaving the UEO trident on the screen.

            Katie flipped some switches and then cast a look at Nathan. “I’m fine if you’d like to catch some sleep, sir.”

            He wasn’t sure he could ever fall asleep in an aircraft again. But, since he had no idea what to talk about for four hours and he was mentally as well as physically exhausted, he chuckled and nodded. “I must look like hell. I think I’ll take you up on that.”


	53. Chapter 53

            The captain awoke to the sound of Katie’s voice as she made contact with _seaQuest_ on final approach. Blinking back the effects of a four-hour nap, he peered out the window to see the shining blue hull that was home.

            “As beautiful as ever,” Katie remarked when she noticed him stirring.

            He couldn’t help but smile. “That she is.” He’d flown over _seaQuest_ before, but only on his way to catch a shuttle for actual entry. He’d never landed on her from the air.

            Nathan pointed out the window at the incredi­bly tiny helipad. “You can land on that little thing?” He kept his tone light. It was more of a compliment than a doubt.

            “Yes, sir, and without a tailhook.”

            “And probably with half your instruments down too.”

            She nodded with an air of confidence.

            He couldn’t help wishing he had something to offer her to come back, but not only did he have to compete with a commercial salary and command of a supertanker, but she had her own helicopter to boot. Even _seaQuest_ herself was probably not enough.

            She set _Gazelle One_ down so smoothly that he hardly felt a thing. The gentle sway of the ocean was the only confirmation that they’d landed.

            He didn’t realize he was staring at her with fatherly pride until she finally said, “What?”

            He looked away. “Sorry, I was just thinking how impressed I am with all your accomplish­ments.”

            “ _SeaQuest_ opened a lot of opportunities for me I know I’d never had otherwise. But I don’t forget who helped me get here.”

            “No, you sure haven’t. Thanks.” He extended his hand and she accepted it.

            They shook for a second, then she leaned in and kissed his cheek and whispered, “You’re wel­come.”

            Lt. Brody was waiting at the hatch as they disembarked. He stood tall and saluted. Nathan still wore his civvies, now wrinkled and in sore need of laundering, but he saluted back anyway. “Welcome home, sir,” Brody said.

            “Thank you, Lieutenant. This is Capt. Kath­erine Hitchcock. She’s an honored guest and a good friend. Capt. Hitchcock, Lt. Jim Brody.”

            “Ma’am,” Brody said as he took her hand. He turned back to face the captain, urgency now evi­dent in his tone. “You’re wanted on the bridge, sir. Adm. Overbeck started hailing us the mo­ment we surfaced.”

            Nathan’s smile faded. “Even when I’m dead, I can’t get away from bureaucracy. Will you see to our guest, please, Lieutenant?”

            He heard Brody give a positive response to his back as he took off at a jog. In every corridor, people were welcoming him back and cheering him on, but he only had time to wave acknowledgements.

            He caught his breath on the mag-lev and surged toward the open clamshell doors with re­newed energy. “Captain on the bridge!” met his ears when he barreled through the doorway. Every­one snapped to attention.

            _Oh, for goodness sake, with me dressed like some bum?_ He did appreciate it, even if he was a little embarrassed that he hadn’t cleaned up. “As you were,” he called, making sure there was no hint of annoyance in his tone. He found Ford moving away from the conn. “What have you told him?”

            Ford shook his head. “On my orders, Mr. Pic­colo informed the admiral that I was ‘in the shower.’ The admiral suggested that someone ‘go pull me out and get my ass down here on the double’ to talk to him. Loosely quoted, sir.”

            “All right. Get behind me and don’t say a word, Commander.”

            “But sir, there’s something you should know before—”

            Nathan took a step toward covering him with his body. “Not a word. That’s an order.”

            Ford nodded and moved to stand behind him. His voice was calm and gave no hint of further protest when he said, “Aye, sir.”

            There was no helping how shabby he looked. He didn’t bother trying to run his fingers through his hair or straightening his wrinkled chambray shirt. He nodded at Tony. “Put the call on center screen, Mr. Piccolo.”

            “Aye, sir.” Piccolo pressed the buttons, hold­ing his breath like the rest of the bridge crew.

            Overbeck’s pompous face filled the screen, his cheeks red, presumably from screaming at his staff. “Captain Ford! How dare you…”

            The bridge crew gasped at the admiral’s use of the rank even as Overbeck’s eyes grew wide. Nathan was a little surprised himself. Ford had actually been promoted in the short span of time he’d been presumed dead? There was no time to think about it now. He had to tend to toxic waste removal before anything else.

            Nathan drew a deep breath and focused his attention back on the screen. “What’s the matter, Admiral? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

            The admiral just stood there dumbfounded, shaking his head.

            “If you have something to say to my exec­utive officer, you can say it to me.”

            “N-N-Nathan, uh…you’re alive! We all thought…”

            “That I was dead? Yes, I imagine you did. Hard to survive when all the pilots drug the pas­sengers, sabotage the flight controls, and then ab­andon them to crash.” A few more hushed gasps sprung up around him.

            Overbeck tried to muster his abysmal acting ability to feign pleasure. “But you made it! Thank God!”

            “Actually, I’ll thank Lt. O’Neill. He’s the one who saved all our lives.” The gasps from the bridge crew were more pronounced this time and followed by whispers. Nathan had half a mind to launch into a full-blown account of Tim’s heroic deeds right then and there, but Overbeck’s mere presence would have spoiled it. His crew would hear it later, under more appropriate circumstances.

            Just then, the admiral’s door burst open. Over­beck backed away, panic-stricken, but he was trapped with nowhere to go. Nathan recognized Noyce and McGath as they crossed into view. Three military police accompanied them. McGath spoke: “Adm. Charles Overbeck, under article eight, section twelve of the UEO Charter, I hereby place you under arrest.”

            The MPs surrounded him and attempted to guide him out the door, but he resisted, shouting, “I didn’t have anything to do with this! I want a lawyer. You can’t prove anything. Get your hands off me!”

            Noyce didn’t raise his voice, but his tone was low and menacing. “Come quietly or I’ll have you dragged down to the brig in handcuffs. Your choice.”

            Overbeck made one last indignant push before he surrendered to save his dignity. _Too bad_ , Na­than thought.

            McGath’s shoulders and head took over the screen. “Good to see you, Captain. When we saw the crash site, we all feared the worst.”

            “Thank you, Mr. Secretary. I hope that some­one will be kind enough to see that Mr. Wolen­czak’s and Lt. O’Neill’s next-of-kin are appro­priately notified and apologized to.”

            “I’ll see to it personally.”

            “And now if you’ll forgive me, I think I could use a hot shower.” _And some flan_.

            “Of course, Captain.”

            “Nathan?” Noyce ducked into view. “Col. Black resisted. We had to shoot him down.”

            “Casualties?”

            “Just Black. Drowned.”

            _Better him than anyone else._ “Thanks, Bill. I owe you one.”

            “Nonsense. Men like Overbeck give all admir­als a bad name. I’m covering my own butt this time.”

            Nathan was glad Bill saw it that way. He wouldn’t rub it in by agreeing. “Give my best to Janet.”

            “Will do. Noyce out.”

            “ _SeaQuest_ out.” He nodded to Piccolo to termi­nate the connection. A collective sigh of re­lief passed around the bridge. The captain turned to see Hitchcock and Brody standing just inside the main doors.

            Ford hurried to explain. “I promised her she could watch Overbeck go down.”

            Was he _apologizing_? “As far as I’m con­cerned, she’s welcome anywhere on this boat she wants to go. And besides, _Captain_ , it doesn’t ap­pear you needed my consent anyway.”

            Ford shrugged and sighed. “I suspected the admiral wouldn’t get my ‘promotion’ approved after we were done with him, so I never told the crew. I wanted everyone to operate on the as­sumption that you were alive and coming back.”

            “And thanks to all of you, that’s exactly what happened.” He extended his hand to Jonathan and exchanged a hearty shake.

            “You didn’t give up on me when our places were reversed. And I have to say, I think I’d rather be in the raft than trying to engineer the imposs­ible rescue.”

            Nathan chuckled. “Even in a hurricane?”

            He nodded. “Even in a hurricane.”

            Thinking back to when their places were re­versed, the captain had to agree. But they’d had enough sentimentality on the bridge for one day. It was time to move on.

            He glanced across the room. “Mr. Ortiz, when will you be serving that flan of yours?”

            “It’s chilling in the galley refrigerator, ready any time.”

            “Excellent. Capt. Hitchcock, as I recall, you said you needed me to pose for a snapshot in order to justify the use of your helicopter. Would you prefer my castaway look or cleaned up?”

            She smiled widely. “Definitely the castaway look. Evokes loads of sympathy.”

            He’d assumed as much, which was why he asked. “All right, then you’d better get your pity pictures now because I’m long overdue for a shower.”

            She pulled a tiny digital camera from her pocket and handed it to Ford. “Would you, Jona­than?”

            He didn’t look thrilled at the idea, but he kept his facial expression neutral. Nathan wasn’t ex­actly keen on becoming the poster boy for sur­viving a plane crash, especially when he had per­sonally done so little toward affecting their sur­vival and rescue. His biggest contribution had been catching a tuna and disposing of the emer­gency locator beacons, which in retrospect may have actually been counterproductive.

            But he knew as well as Katie that all the pub­licity had been focused on the captain of the UEO’s flagship and publicity was good for busi­ness. He wouldn’t hesitate to pose for a little ex­ploitation when she had asked so little in return for the huge favor. So they stood in front of the dedication plaque on the bridge and snapped a few shots, Nathan trying to look pathetic enough that her employer would be happy with her humanita­rian use of their jet copter.

            When they were done, she thanked him and said her goodbyes. She couldn’t stay and he’d al­ready announced he was going to shower. It was only fair she have some time with her friends alone. She pulled a two-centimeter digital disc from her pocket, sheathed in a hard plastic pro­tective case. “The video from the jet copter.”

            He took a step back and raised both hands. “Don’t give that to me.” He looked at Jonathan and adopted an official air. “Commander, would you please accept that disc from Capt. Hitchcock and lock it up somewhere I have no access.”

            He blinked. “Sir?”

            “Your quarters, perhaps? Just until you can hand it over to the JAG in Pearl. If I touch it, that corrupts the chain of custody for evidence.”

            He nodded understanding. “Yes, sir.” He moved toward Katie, took the disc, and slipped it discreetly into his pocket.

            “Thank you, Commander. I think we can let Brody take the conn for a while if you’d like to escort Katie to the mess.”

            “Thank you, sir.” He turned and swept his arm toward the mag-lev. “After you, Captain.”

            Katie smirked at him. “Hey, if you’re gonna get all formal on me, I just heard an admiral call _you_ Captain.”

            He gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry, _Katie_. Did you get to see Engineering yet?”

            They walked out of Nathan’s hearing. It was so good to hear Ford having a friendly chat about something other than work.

            “Henderson, would you please take over for Mr. Ortiz?”

            “Aye, sir.” She moved efficiently toward the sensor station.

            Ortiz stepped away from his station, but he looked confused.

            “We have a hungry guest who came all the way from the Kuril Trench just to eat your flan. I suggest you don’t disappoint her. Dismissed.”

            He grinned. “Thank you, sir.” He took off to­ward the mag-lev.

            Nathan felt badly that Lucas and Tim were missing the little reunion. Thoughts of his fellow castaways led to a cringing realization that he hadn’t talked to Wendy yet. He needed to thank her and he needed to ask about their medical progress. Shinju Hospital had promised to send all critical updates through her. He decided to stop by Medbay on the way to his quarters.

            “Lt. Brody, you have the conn.”

            “Aye, sir,” Brody said.

            Nathan turned to leave when Piccolo spoke. “I have an incoming call from Capt. Johnson on the _Key West_.”

            Nathan backed up the few steps he’d taken. Brody was looking at him for a cue. “I’ll take the call, Lieutenant. Mr. Piccolo, put him on center screen.”

            “Aye, sir, center screen.”

            The vid-link display irised out, revealing the interior of an old Los Angeles-class sub. Her captain had a long cut on his face and looked al­most as bedraggled as Nathan felt.

            “Capt. Johnson, I presume? This is Capt. Na­than Bridger. My XO tells me I owe you some thanks for all your help.”

            The weariness in his eyes dissipated a little. “Capt. Bridger? By God, he was right! I thought for sure you’d been lost at sea, but Cmdr. Ford wouldn’t give up.”

            Nathan chuckled. “He’s very persistent like that. What can I do for you, Captain?”

            He inhaled and stood a little taller, like this unexpected news had somehow strengthened him. “The Air Force is demanding that I hand over Maj. Slate to them when I reach Midway. Something doesn’t feel right about it. These fly­boys killed one of my men and injured quite a few of us. I don’t want to lose another one like I lost Black.”

            “Well, first, the good news. Col. Black’s at­tack copter fired on our little unarmed life raft, but we’d already been evacuated. We got some nice footage and the UEO sent a fleet of AH-95s after him. He refused to surrender and was shot down. He drowned.”

            Johnson smiled, though it obviously pained his stitched cheek. “The sea reclaims her enemies. Thank you for that news.”

            “Not at all. The bad news is that there’s ob­viously someone highly placed in the Air Force who’s been giving Black and Slate their orders and we don’t have any idea who it is. Is there any way you can forestall Slate’s transfer?”

            “That’s actually why I called. Our engines are at minimum capacity at the moment and we need gig line to repair them. Can you assist us?”

            Bridger listened and nodded thoughtfully. He understood the code. ‘Gig line’ wasn’t a real ob­ject; it was a navy in-joke, like ‘bulkhead re­mover’, used to send new recruits on an imposs­ible task for the entertainment of the more ex­perienced. Someone was monitoring his communi­cations.

            He’d slowed his boat down and requested as­sistance with a repair they didn’t need. He ob­viously wanted the UEO (or at least someone whose interest matched his own) to take charge of Slate so he wouldn’t escape justice.

            Bridger looked over Tony’s shoulder and down at the communications station. The _Key West_ had sent a single set of coordinates over the G12 datalink. This was odd, not only because he hadn’t requested them, but if he had, it would be faster and easier to just read coordinates out loud or type them into the vid-link screen. They were not that far out of his way. A side trip would add no more than two hours to the twelve hours still remaining to get _seaQuest_ to Shinju Colony.

            “Capt. Johnson, _seaQuest_ is running low on diesel, so we can’t afford to deviate from our course. After we refuel in Tokyo, we’ll get you that gig line.”

            Any navy man who’d ever heard of _seaQuest_ knew that she didn’t run on diesel and Johnson was obviously no dummy. He faked a good frown. “I’m afraid that at our current rate of twelve knots, we’ll make it to Midway long before you can reach us.”

            _Twelve knots?_ Good heavens, that poor old boat was all but dead in the water. It would be lit­erally days before they reached Midway unless the reported speed was yet another red herring. However, even at the top speed for a Los Angeles class, she wasn’t going to reach Midway before _seaQuest_ could get to her. Nathan shook his head, doing his best to keep a straight face. “Sorry, Captain, you’re just too fast for us.”

            “Thanks for the news anyway. I’m glad to know you made it. _Key West_ out.”

            “Smooth sailing, _Key West_. _SeaQuest_ out.”

            As soon as the connection was severed, Tony couldn’t contain himself any longer. He screwed up his face and asked, “Sir, what was that all about diesel engines and gig lines? There ain’t no such thing.”

            He was proud of the seaman for keeping his trap shut during the exchange. “Johnson was tell­ing me that the Air Force was monitoring his communications but he wanted us to come take Slate off his hands before he reaches Midway.”

            Brody added, “And it sounds like he’s crip­pled his own boat to make sure we have time to get there.”

            Nathan shook his head. “Oh, we have time. Unless these coordinates are bad, and I can’t im­agine he would have bothered with the datalink for phony coordinates, then we can get to him be­fore he gets to Midway, no matter how fast he goes.”

            “Surely he knows where we are. We’re run­ning on the surface while we’ve got a chopper sit­ting on deck!”

            “Exactly, Lieutenant. He knows we don’t run on diesel either. Everything we said was designed to fool the flyboys.”

            “But why bother? It’s not even a race.”

            “Just a little passive-aggressive retribution. We’re going to take Maj. Slate right out from under their noses and they won’t even realize we had time to do it.”

            Brody grinned. “Set course for their location, sir?”

            “Yes, Lieutenant. Alter course to rendezvous with the _Key West_. I’ll be in my quarters. You have the conn.”

            “Aye, aye.”


	54. Chapter 54

            Nathan debated himself on whether to stop by Medbay on the way to his quarters or to shower and change first. While Wendy might appreciate him being cleaner, she’d understand if he wasn’t up to regulation. He finally decided he couldn’t wait another minute to ask about Lucas and Tim. Even if she had no news, _knowing_ that there was no news would be better than worrying.

            He walked at a brisk pace, but took time to smile and greet those in the corridors who wel­comed him back. He rapped on the hatch as he opened it.

            Wendy looked up from her desk. “Nathan!” She bolted from her seat, threw her arms around him, and pulled him into a hug.

            Slightly uneasy, as he had been ever since his brush with infatuation, he tried to diffuse it with humor. “I guess I should take R&R a little more often if this is the kind of reception I get when I return.”

            She furrowed her brows and shook her head as she withdrew. “This wasn’t any ordinary shore leave!”

            He scoffed a laugh. “Seeing how I hardly got to see any shore, I suppose you’re right.”

            “How are you feeling?”

            “Filthy.”

            She wasn’t put off that easily. “Come on, I’m serious. Let me check you out.”

            “Maybe later, Doctor.” Certainly not before he’d showered, and not at all if he could manage it. “I’m fine, really. Not so much as a scratch. I just came down to ask whether you’ve heard from the hospital. How are Lucas and O’Neill?”

            “Lucas is responding well to anti-inflamma­tory medication. His doctor thinks he might be able to test his vision in eight hours. That call from Tony really lifted his spirits. Thank you for encouraging that.”

            Nathan nodded. “And Tim?”

            “I’ve had no word from the surgeon. I believe he only speaks Japanese, so we’ll have to wait for another doctor to translate, or for Tim himself to help us out. However, Mary has been checking in on him every fifteen minutes. He’s out of surgery and resting comfortably. She said his pain level was way down from what it was before.”

            “That’s great. I’ll have to remember to thank her for all of this. How do you know her any­way?”

            “She was a mentor of mine, before Chatton.”

            “Where is she now?”

            Wendy sighed. “Her abilities make it very hard for her to deal with people in person. She’s what you would call a hermit.”

            “I can relate to that. She won’t mind if we hide her role in all this, then?”

            Wendy nodded emphatically. “She’d beg you not to mention it, but she’d understand if you had no choice.”

            “Good. How much of O’Neill’s abilities do you have to put in his official records?”

            She shook her head. “None. It isn’t medical. Unless he has plans to become a recognized ex­pert in the field, there’s no reason I have to docu­ment his psi factor at all.”

            “Has he said anything about pursuing it?”

            Another head shake. “No, up until all this, I’m pretty sure he saw it as a burden.”

            “I don’t want to hold him back, but I’d like to keep as much of this as possible under wraps. The natural assumption is that _you_ were the one to make our unconventional communication possible and I’d like to discourage anyone finding out oth­erwise.”

            She didn’t argue, but he could see questions in her eyes.

            “Two reasons: if anyone finds out that ge­nome wave energy can enhance psychic abilities, they’ll start experimenting on people, starting with innocent telepaths.” When he read the alarm and agreement in her face, he wished he hadn’t mentioned that he had another reason. He stopped, hoping she was satisfied with what he’d already given her.

            “And the second?”

            He flashed an embarrassed wince. “It’s sel­fish, really.”

            She arched a brow and waited. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get away without telling her.

            He lowered his voice. “I’ve already got half the captains in the fleet begging and cajoling me to give them a shot at wooing Jonathan away. With all his languages, Tim is the best conven­tional communications officer in the navy. But how many captains have a com officer who can make contact with their boat 10,000 miles away, without a radio of any kind?”

            She laughed. “I don’t think Tim could be en­ticed away from _seaQuest_.”

            “Maybe not, but it’s rather bothersome to have to fend off all the eager beavers.”

            She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And you _like_ the idea of having a secret weapon, don’t you?”

            “Well, I wouldn’t call him a ‘weapon’, but yes, I do like having an ace in the hole. Besides, he could become a target for someone who wouldn’t give him a choice.”

            She nodded and uncrossed her arms. “You’re right. Transmitters are rare enough that he’d be in danger.”

            “How about Mary? How does she deal with the threat?”

            Wendy laughed. “She’s a very strong Re­ceiver as well as Transmitter, so it’s pretty diffi­cult to sneak up on her. But not many people know about her abilities either.”

            “All right. Thank you, Doctor. Let me know if you hear anything from Mary or the hospital. We should be arriving at Shinju in another fourteen hours. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a bar of soap.”

            “By all means, Captain.”

            He hurried to his quarters and peeled off his salt-soaked clothes, tossing them into a corner. He couldn’t decide whether to try to launder them or just throw them out. He splurged on real water and scrubbed everything thoroughly. His clean uniform even smelled good. Hair combed and face shaved, he felt not only cleaner, but more ener­gized when he headed to the mess.

            Ford, Ortiz, and Hitchcock were laughing along with several others who’d been on the first tour. The captain entered to applause, but he was careful to deflect the attention so as not to upstage Katie’s party. “Is there any flan left?”

            A dish passed through half a dozen hands un­til it made it to him. He dug in with gusto. The caramel creaminess melted in his mouth. He closed his eyes to savor it, then opened them to notice Ortiz watching guardedly. The captain gave him a thumb up and hastily spooned another bite into his mouth. He could almost believe Katie would spend hundreds of gallons of jet fuel just to partake of this ambrosia. _Almost_.

            All too soon, however, the guest of honor stood. “I have to get back to the _Clinton_ ,” she said reluctantly.

            Ortiz whined, “Aw, come on.”

            She just sighed and shook her head. “I’ve al­ready spent too much time away.”

            Silence dropped and people moved out of her way as she headed slowly toward the door.

            The captain swallowed his latest bite of flan and stalled the next bite long enough to ask, “Will we be seeing you at Shinju Colony?”

            She gave him a blank look.

            “To pick up your security guys.”

            Her face brightened. “Oh yeah. I guess I can’t leave them there, can I?”

            “We could shuttle them to Tokyo, if that’s any easier for you.”

            She shook her head. “No, I’d really like to look in on Lucas. But if you’d send the shuttle to Tokyo, I’ll land there instead, so you don’t have to surface.”

            “Just tell us when you’re coming and we’ll take care of it.”

            “I’ll do that, Captain. Thank you.”

            “No. Thank _you_ , Captain. For everything.”

            She smiled. “Any time.”

            Katie made her rounds, saying goodbye and embracing her friends. Nathan shook her hand again, but he stayed behind while Jonathan and Miguel walked her to sea deck. He used food as an excuse, but he wasn’t lying about his hunger. Good as the flan was, he really needed to eat something more substantial.

            “What have we got?” he asked.

            “There’s halibut, pizza, and chicken,” one of the female crew said.

            _No chicken!_ He managed to quench the panic before answering. “I’ll try the halibut.”

            Since the room was so full, he couldn’t really get to the chow line, but everyone was more than anxious to pass anything he asked for. In less than a minute, he had a full spread of fish, brown rice, biscuits, and vegetables. He finally had to stop them from bringing more. “I’m good, thanks.”

            The room slowly emptied of those who’d come to the impromptu party. A few of the crew were still talking and even fewer were eating. Nathan drank in the happy voices, filling his spirit like the food filled his stomach. It was so good to be home.

            When he was about halfway done eating, Jon­athan returned from seeing Katie off. “We’re going to rendezvous with _Key West_ before they get to Midway,” he informed his XO.

            “Oh?” Ford was still a bit distracted.

            “Capt. Johnson was ordered to hand Maj. Slate over to the Air Force. Neither he nor I think that’s a good idea.”

            Ford nodded. “Agreed.”

            “When was the last time you slept?”

            The commander massaged his forehead with his fingertips. “Honestly? I can’t remember.”

            “Go sleep. I’ve been doing nothing but lie around on a raft for days and I slept the whole trip in the jet copter.”

            “You’re sure?”

            The captain chuckled. “Go to bed, Jonathan.”

            “Yes, sir.” Relief washed over his tired fea­tures and he stood. “Good to have you back, sir.”

            “Good to _be_ back.”

            Ford made a beeline for his quarters. Nathan finished eating and then relieved Brody on the bridge. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a while either.

            With the helipad now vacated, he ordered _sea­Quest_ to dive and increased her speed. He didn’t want to take any chances that the Air Force would send a mini-sub or something out to _Key West_. If Slate went missing, it could weaken their case against Overbeck, and if Overbeck got away scot-free, Nathan didn’t think he’d be able to stand it.

            After three hours, Wendy called with an up­date. “O’Neill is conscious, but somewhat hazy from anesthesia. The surgeon removed all the major debris from his hands and repaired the slow leak in his abdomen. Lucas pulled off his medi­cated dressings and started forcing his eyelids open. The doctors examined his eyeballs and they think he escaped direct contact with the nemato­cysts. He should regain full sight in a day or two.”

            Tony, still seated at the communications sta­tion, raised a fist and pumped it in toward his sto­mach, almost yelling, “Yes!”

            The captain patted the top of his shoulder in agreement. “Thank you, Doctor. I think Mr. Pic­colo appreciates the news as well.”

            “My pleasure, Captain. Smith out.”

            Truth was, everyone on the bridge was smil­ing after hearing the good news. There were very few people on _seaQuest_ who hadn’t taken a shin­ing to their chief computer analyst.

            Henderson broke the jubilant mood. “Captain, I have sonar contact with _Key West_.”

            “Very good. Mr. Piccolo, please hail them.”

            “Aye, sir.” A few seconds later: “I have them.”

            “Put them on.”

            “This is _Key West_ , Ensign Laconte speaking.”

            “This is Capt. Nathan Bridger on _seaQuest_. Your captain told me a few hours ago that you have need of some gig line. We didn’t think we could make it to you, but it seems our diesel held out. We can send a shuttle launch with supplies.”

            “Your assistance is appreciated, _seaQuest_. Dock on our port side, aft. Capt. Johnson will be waiting for you.”

            “Acknowledged. _SeaQuest_ out.” Who should pilot the shuttle? He’d sent half the crew to bed, but no one would complain if he woke them. Then Laconte’s last words echoed in his mind. Johnson was waiting _for him_.

            _Key West_ had supplied critical sonar informa­tion that Ortiz readily admitted accelerated his wristwatch tracking. Had their life raft’s discovery been delayed even 30 minutes, the three of them would have still been there when Black showed up and fired without warning or mercy. Further­more, Johnson had lost a man when Black es­caped. Now the captain was defying his own countrymen to get Slate to justice. Nathan wanted to shake his hand and thank him personally. He wished _Key West_ really did need some parts or assistance because a handshake seemed so insigni­ficant. But the only thing worse would be to let the opportunity pass.

            The captain stood. “Mr. Piccolo, recall Lt. Brody to the bridge.”

            Piccolo spoke into the intercom: “Lt. Brody to the bridge. Lt. Brody to the bridge.”

            “Ask Dagwood and two from security to meet me in Launch Bay.”

            Tony looked surprised, but he didn’t hesitate to carry out all of his captain’s orders. Brody ar­rived promptly; the captain left him in charge and hurried to the mag-lev.

            Just outside the pressure doors, Dagwood stood, holding a broom. He spoke slowly and hal­tingly. “You asked for me, sir, Captain, sir?”

            “Yes, Dagwood. I want you to come with us to pick up a prisoner on another submarine.”

            “You want Dagwood to make sure the bad man does not escape?”

            Nathan laid his hand on the GELF’s massive shoulder. “No, Dagwood. These security men will do that. I want you to keep _me_ from killing him.”

            “Uh...okay.”

            Nathan piloted the shuttle, mentally preparing himself the whole way to come face-to-face with the man who’d tried to kill him, Lucas, and O’Neill. He kept reminding himself how much they needed Slate alive for information. _We want whoever is giving the orders_.

            He docked without consciously thinking about it, the procedure so ingrained as to be automatic. The security men checked the inside seal and rea­died the hatch while Nathan waited. Dagwood stood behind him, looking like he was trying to hide, but failing miserably because the captain was neither tall nor broad.

            The GELF _looked_ menacing, which might inspire fear on Slate’s part, but the captain knew he was as gentle as they came. If Nathan gave in to rage, Dagwood would ensure he didn’t do any­thing he’d regret. His dwarfing presence stood as a graphic reminder of Nathan’s good intentions. The captain gave him a wink and a nod to which he returned a crooked smile and a small grunt.

            The docking hatch slid open. Nathan ducked out into the _Key West_. The walls and ceilings were close and cramped. He’d served on old subs like this and while it brought on a wave of nostalgia, it reminded him why he’d designed _seaQuest_ with plenty of open spaces, high ceil­ings, and wide corridors.

            Johnson stood a few feet back, surprise evi­dent in his eyes. “Capt. Bridger?”

            Nathan saluted. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

            Johnson returned the salute. “Granted, of course. I can’t believe you came in person.”

            He extended his hand and the two shared a firm handshake. “I wanted to thank you for all you and your crew did for us. Chief Ortiz has the highest praise for your Mr. Taylor.”

            Johnson shook his head. “You realize, we’re the ones who failed to pick up your beacons and went the other way.”

            “And you need to realize that we didn’t get off that doomed plane at the same time as the fly­boys. Our beacons weren’t available to be found when you were up picking them up. We were un­conscious, probably for an hour or longer on that plane. And when you lost the signal later? That was because _I_ fed the beacons to a tuna.”

            “A tuna?” Johnson chuckled.

            “I didn’t know who to trust.”

            Understanding hit him. “That’s why Cmdr. Ford didn’t care which way the beacons went. He knew the beacons weren’t with you.”

            Nathan nodded.

            Just then, Dagwood came through the docking collar, bumping his head on the low ceiling. John­son’s eyes grew wide.

            “Oh, sorry. This is a member of my crew. Dagwood, this is Capt. Johnson.” He regretted not preparing the childlike hulk better for the meeting.

            Dagwood saluted the American captain awk­wardly.

            Johnson blinked, then looked back at Nathan. “You’ve got Daggers on your crew?”

            “Well, he’s kind of auxiliary.”

            The gentle giant held his head high. “Dag­wood is the proto-type.”

            Johnson still looked stunned, but he extended a tentative hand. “Uh, welcome to the _Key West_ , Dagwood.”

            Dagwood wiped his hand on his shirt and then took Johnson’s hand and pumped it one stroke. “Thank you, Capt. Johnson, sir.”

            Nathan sidled up to Johnson, leaned in, and lowered his voice. “For the record, did you re­quest the prisoner transfer, or did I force it down your throat?”

            Johnson faked a cough. “Uh…you informed me that the UEO had the greater interest in this case and I recognized your authority in the matter and complied willingly with your appeal. How does that sound?” He handed over a clipboard with prisoner transfer forms.

            Nathan accepted the forms and started sign­ing. “Are you sure?” He was perfectly willing to take the heat for this and no one would question it. _SeaQuest_ was newer, bigger, and faster, and he wasn’t above using it for leverage, especially if doing so would keep Johnson from getting in trouble with his superiors.

            Johnson took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure, but just in case, how is the UEO set for naval officers?”

            Nathan laughed. “If you need it, I’ll write a personal recommendation.” He handed back the clipboard.

            Johnson motioned to someone waiting in the doorway. The man nodded and disappeared. Maj. Slate appeared in his place, his arms pinned behind his back. He stumbled forward like he’d been pushed from behind.

            Nathan’s heartbeat quickened. He’d expected to be enraged, to want to strangle him. But once he saw his face, the thought of getting closer didn’t appeal to him at all. His stomach tightened. He turned away and nodded to his own security men. “Get him out of my sight.”

            The security men each took charge of a shoul­der and herded the scum into the shuttle. Nathan returned his gaze to Johnson. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

            “Nothing at all. Thanks for the gig line.” He winked.

            “Worth every drop of diesel I burned to get here.” Nathan swept his hand toward the docking hatch for Dagwood’s sake.

            The big guy blinked. “We’re leaving al­ready?”

            “Yes, Dagwood. We have to get to the hos­pital to check on Lucas and Tim.”

            This brought a big smile. Both of the patients were his personal friends. “Okay.” He ducked his head and lumbered into the shuttle.

            The captain managed to avoid looking at Slate as he made his way to the front of the launch. The trip back to _seaQuest_ seemed much further and Nathan couldn’t shake the perception that some­thing in the cabin reeked.

            “Thank you for coming, Dagwood.”

            “But Dagwood did not do anything.”

            “You reminded me not to do any­thing I’d regret.”

            “I did?”

            “You did.” He turned to the security detail. “Take him to the brig. I want double guards at all times.”

            “Yes, sir.” They pushed Slate along, not roughly, but not gently either.

            Nathan turned the other direction, headed to the bridge. He heard Slate spit from behind him, but he chose to ignore it.

            “So now what?” Slate yelled. “You send some­one in the middle of the night to slit my throat and hide my body in the sea?”

            Although Nathan’s first instinct told him to keep walking, he stopped. _Calm. Stay calm_. “No. You’re being held for questioning and trial.”

            “Black won’t quit until you’re dead.”

            Nathan spun on him and motioned to the guards to halt. “His jet copter was shot down over the Pacific. He drowned.”

            “You lie.”

            The captain closed in, pointing his index at the major. “No. He was given a chance to sur­render, even though he never gave his unarmed victims the same chance. But he chose to fight. He lost.”

            “Don’t pull that ‘innocent victim’ bull shit on me. Traitors, all of you.”

            “Traitors?” Nathan’s eyes bugged out. Of all the possible motives he expected to be killed over, treason wasn’t one of them. “In what way?”

            His face was right in Slate’s now and the pris­oner took advantage of it to spit again. Nathan wiped the spittle from his cheek with his left hand while he clenched his right hand into a fist. He wasn’t going to kill him. No, this was just fair retaliation.

            His fist flew of its own accord and landed squarely on Slate’s cheek, sending him to the floor, where he lay sprawled, unable to regain his feet with his hands bound.

            Nathan felt Dagwood’s large hand on his shoulder. He turned and whispered, “Thanks. I wasn’t going to hit him again.”

            The guards helped the prisoner up without apology. Nathan didn’t look back, but he sneered, “ _That_ was for O’Neill,” and stormed off.


	55. Chapter 55

            Tim felt great. Of course, anyone who had as much morphine pumping into an I.V. drip as he did would feel great too. He couldn’t feel his itchy, burning hands or his throbbing face or even the stabbing pain in his gut. It was all gone bye-bye. Some girl who said her name was Mary had given him a ringy-dingy on the secret spy phone that he kept in his Friday underwear. But she wasn’t wearing her super decoder ring and didn’t give him the password, so he couldn’t talk to her.

            He still wasn’t quite sure how his Friday un­derwear got wherever this was. Lucas was now his little brother, because they had the same bed­room and two really big babysitters stood outside the door, watching to make sure they put away their toys and brushed their teeth after eating. The bedroom window wasn’t even really a window, but an aquarium.

            A bunch of Japanese women in funny white hats kept coming in their bedroom to flirt with Lucas. They giggled a lot and brought Lucas smuggled cookies that gave him x-ray vision so he could see through the bandages they put on his eyes. Lucas shared his cookies, but they didn’t work on Tim because his bed was in a fog bank.

            But _of course_ , they worked on SuperLucas. Flushed all the Kryptonite out of his system so he could see again and all the ladies cheered and gig­gled and gushed niceties at him. Except SuperLucas didn’t have _his_ decoder ring either and he kept asking Tim to tell him what they were say­ing. Tim did this about skatey-eight-zillion times until he got tired of repeating himself. “You’re cute, okay? That’s all they say.” They also said he was “sweet” and “adorable” and “darling” but how fair was it to make him repeat stuff like that to a little brother?

            The doting cookie girls left them alone for a while and Tim took a nap right there in the fog. A dull bumping sound woke him up. It was still very foggy, but the good feelings were gone and the pain was coming back. Tim groaned.

            “Are you all right, Tim?” little brother said sleepily. He’d been taking a nap too.

            Tim grunted, “Stop jumping on the bed.”

            “I’m not jumping.” Lucas must have heard the bumping and got up to investigate. He walked to the window and opened the curtain. “Darwin!”

            “Huh?” Tim looked through the fog and saw the fuzzy outline of a small marine mammal bumping his beak repeatedly on the thick plexi-glass porthole. But some remnant of reason said it couldn’t be a dolphin. They were too far north for dolphins. It had to be a porpoise. But SuperLucas was almost never wrong. “How do you know?”

            The teen chuckled. “Because he’s wearing a wetsuit with ‘Ensign Darwin’ embroidered on it. How did he know which room we were in?”

            “Maybe he followed _us_ ,” said a familiar voice.

            “Captain!” Lucas declared and ran to meet him at the door.

            Tim lay back and shut his eyes. The drugs were wearing off, but he was liable to say some­thing stupid if he opened his mouth. What had he told Mary? Something about refusing to talk to her because she wouldn’t say the password? She’d been their lifeline for days and he’d blown her off when she was just checking on his health. His head was really starting to throb now. Tim heard footsteps advancing toward him, but maybe if he pretended to be asleep, they’d go away.

            “Tim?” Dr. Smith’s soft voice called.

            He opened his eyes, hoping they wouldn’t ask questions, hoping he didn’t have to speak.

            “I’ve got something for you,” she said. At first, he couldn’t tell what she was doing with her hands, but then he saw the frames of his glasses progressing toward his face. She placed the bridge on his nose and the fog which had plagued him for days suddenly lifted. He could see again.

            “Thank you, Doctor.”

            She nodded. “How are you feeling?”

            He looked down at his bandaged hands and at the covers hiding his incision, then he peered back up at the doctor. She was staring at his throbbing cheek, her face wrenched up in either sympathy or repulsion. “That bad?” he asked.

            She shook her head, but it looked more like apology than an answer.

            Capt. Bridger edged in beside her. “Actually, he looks a lot better. I hope they took pictures for the evidence files.”

            Tim nodded. “They did, sir.”

            “Good, because Maj. Slate is in the brig on _seaQuest_. Col. Black was shot down by the UEO. He didn’t make it.”

            “Oh, too bad,” Lucas said sarcastically.

            “Don’t get too excited by the death of your enemies, kiddo. He didn’t order this hit and he may have been the only one who knew who did.”

            Although Bridger had a point, Tim couldn’t help but agree with Lucas about Black. He’d never be able to forget the look in Black’s eyes when he was about to knock him into oblivion.

            Lucas didn’t seem swayed either. “What about Adm. Overbeck?”

            “Under arrest,” Bridger said, “but don’t hold your breath with him. That man is more slippery than a greased eel.”

            Dr. Smith quietly started removing the gauze around Tim’s right hand. The dressing wasn’t that old, but even if the surgeon came in and gave her an extensive report, Tim knew she’d still want to look for herself. Showing was easier than talking about it, so he didn’t protest. Now that he had his glasses back, he was a bit curious himself.

            The skin was inflamed and swollen, but there weren’t as many punctures overall as he’d ex­pected. A few cuts had a stitch or two, but he was embarrassed to remember how much of a fuss he’d made over it. “Told you it was nothing ser­ious.”

            She gave him a playful nudge. “And I believe _I_ told _you_ , I’d be the judge of that.”

            He swallowed. “Right. Sorry.”

            She looked over at the captain and winked. “Well, I think they’ve fixed all the damage _you_ inflicted.”

            Bridger raised his hand. “I learned my lesson. No more doctoring for me.”

            She raised the blanket and discreetly checked his incision. And being a doctor, she couldn’t help herself but to poke the most tender spot.

            Tim cringed and tried not to make a sound, but a small grunt escaped.

            “I don’t want to move him for another day,” she announced.

            He sighed. He hadn’t expected to see his quar­ters, but he was hoping she’d at least clear him for Medbay.

            “How about me?” Lucas asked. “Can I come home?” His eyes were wide and he was jumping up and down like a kid talking to Santa Claus. He seemed just like his old self except for a big red rash on his face.

            _Well, at least I’ll be able to sleep with all the nurses gone._

Dr. Smith jerked her gaze back to Tim. Darn, he was Transmitting again. He shook his head, forcing a weak smile. “Sorry. I forgot I do that when you’re in the same room.”

            She patted his knee. “It’s okay.”

            Bridger cleared his throat. “Well, whether you come home later is up to Dr. Smith, but there’s someone who’s come a very long way to see you _here_ and if you leave now, she might have my head.”

            Lucas looked at him. “She?”

            Katherine Hitchcock’s head popped in the door. “Hey, Lucas.”

            “Commander!” Lucas exclaimed. He lunged toward her, arms wide.

            Bridger coughed pointedly. “Actually, it’s ‘Captain’ now.”

            She pulled Lucas into a bear hug. “How about you just call me Katie.”

            Lucas was so surprised and overwhelmed that he just nodded. “What are you doing here?”

            She jerked her head at the door. “Picking up the bodyguards I left.”

            “Those are yours?”

            Bridger said, “You know I wouldn’t have left you here without someone to keep an eye on you.”

            Tim had them pegged for either hospital secur­ity or friends of Dr. Lincoln’s from the Kuril Trench Research Station, but crew from Hitchcock’s supertanker made even more sense now that he really thought about it. Hitchcock ruffled Lucas’s hair and then stepped toward Tim’s bed.

            “Hey, Tim. I hear you’re the big hero.”

            Completely perplexed, he looked around. Who could have told her and when?

            She leaned down and whispered to him, “The captain announced it on the bridge.”

            _Announced what?_ That he had escaped the drugged chicken because he was vegetarian? He looked down at his covers. “Uh, yeah. I guess I _was_ the one to get the captain and Lucas into the life raft.”

            Bridger added, “After hauling both our uncon­scious bodies out of a sabotaged plane and pulling our parachute cords.”

            Lucas continued, “And then swimming in freezing water while bleeding internally, remov­ing jellyfish off my face with your bare hands, and giving me every heat pack available so I didn’t die of hypothermia.”

            Outnumbered and with no way to argue, Tim just nodded mutely.

            Obviously impressed, Hitchcock whistled. “Wow, Lieutenant, what do you do for an en­core?”

            “Um, that would be getting seasick in front of the captain.” Everyone laughed at this, which was what he’d intended: break the tension with humor.

            The captain, however, wasn’t going to let any­one have a laugh at his expense today. “He _wasn’t_ seasick. It was the antihistamines I gave him.”

            Dr. Smith took over. “Captains should never try to be doctors.” She gave Bridger a fake punch on the shoulder.

            Lucas was quite ready to jump on the let’s-rib-the-captain wagon. “And how many times did you order him to drink water?”

            Bridger shrugged, but Tim thought he de­tected a warning in the look he flashed Lucas.

            Tim cringed. “He didn’t really have to do that, did he?”

            Lucas laughed. “You don’t even remember? I kept thinking you were going to mutiny, it was so annoying.”

            Dr. Smith cut in, “But that was under _my_ super­vision. I told him to keep Tim hydrated.”

            At this point, Hitchcock put two and two to­gether. She turned to Dr. Smith. “You must be the telepathic doctor.” She offered her hand. “Katie Hitchcock.”

            The doctor smiled as she took the offered hand. “Wendy Smith. I’ve heard many good things about you, Captain.”

            Bridger stared back and forth between them. Tim figured he had to be feeling a little embar­rassed that he hadn’t introduced the two women. Of course, neither he nor Lucas had done it either, and they all had the same opportunity. Tim at least could claim impairment. He just got out of sur­gery twelve hours ago.

            The two ladies drifted away, chatting with each other. Bridger slipped in where Dr. Smith had been standing at Tim’s bedside. “ _SeaQuest_ is parked just outside your window. I’m putting two security guards at the door and the list of people who want to visit you is so long that you’ll never be alone except when you’re asleep.”

            Tim wrinkled his brow. “Who wants to see me?”

            “I believe Ortiz and Henderson are at the top of the list. Dr. Smith said no more than two at a time in here, so they have to wait until she and I get back.”

            Tim lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whis­per. “Won’t everyone want to see Capt. Hitch­cock?”

            “They already have. She landed her jet copter on _seaQuest_ , ate some of Miguel’s flan, and then went back to her ship. She made an extra trip here to see you two and pick up her guards.”

            Tim imagined she probably just came to see Lucas, but she’d taken time to speak to him and she’d even been complimentary, so he really couldn’t complain. He nodded. “By the way, it’s okay with me if Dr. Smith lets Lucas go home.”

            “Are you sure?”

            That big long list of visitors was sure to dwin­dle to almost zip when Lucas was no longer part of the deal, but that was probably for the best. Tim would prefer they not pretend they came to see him when all they really wanted to see was Lucas. Let the list dwindle. He’d sleep more and maybe get to come home sooner.

            “Positive.”

            “Good man.” He stuck out his hand and Tim extended his bandaged one in return, but the cap­tain shook his head. He pressed his hand down to rest on his chest and patted the top of it instead. “Get better, Lieutenant.”

            He knew Bridger didn’t mean it as an order, but since he wanted to get home to _seaQuest_ as soon as possible, and he knew his answer wouldn’t be taken the wrong way, he drew a deep breath, smiled, and replied, “Aye, sir.”


	56. Chapter 56

            When Dr. Smith cleared O’Neill for travel, Nathan moved _seaQuest_ from Shinju Colony to the much deeper Kuril Trench Research Station. The director, Dr. Margaret Lincoln, had requested a visit and after showing up with her mini-sub at the life raft in the nick of time, there wasn’t much he’d deny her.

            Their sensor tech, Lance Daniels, came aboard for a tour. Miguel introduced him to Lucas and the three of them ended up hatching a scheme to adapt vocorder technology for use with whale songs. If it hadn’t been for the promise of vid-link and the Internex, the captain feared he might never have been able to separate the trio. As it was, however, they left the scientific outpost with Lu­cas more excited than he’d been in a long time.

            About the time Nathan got _seaQuest_ under­way to Pearl, Lt. O’Neill was cleared for duty. He was still missing a tooth, but the bruises on his face had faded quite a bit and Dr. Smith had re­moved all his stitches. He had quite a few adhe­sive bandages all over his hands, but he didn’t have to deal with gauze mittens anymore and sev­eral of his fingers were usable.

            Their first business in Pearl was to transfer Maj. Slate to a secure UEO holding facility. Nathan took Dagwood along, this time for the in­timidation factor. Of course, Dagwood just thought he was out for a ride, enjoying the sights in Hawaii. After the successful transfer of Slate, he left Dagwood on a beach with Tony and Lucas, and headed to Father Baker’s office.

            “I’m planning a reception for Lt. O’Neill in two weeks,” he told the chaplain. “I’m hoping to have his medal in hand by then. Please come join us.”

            “I’d love to, Captain. Will you be leaving and returning?”

            Nathan shook his head. “Unless there’s an emergency, _seaQuest_ will be docked here while we wait. Give everyone some shore leave and give me a chance to get our legal ducks in order. It seems making a case against an admiral is no small feat.”

            “I imagine not. But I’m so glad you’ve all made it back, alive and well. You had me worried for a while there.”

            “Thank you, Father.”

            They exchanged handshakes and Nathan hur­ried back to _seaQuest_. He decided not to put him­self into the shore leave rotation. He’d had enough R &R to last him to the end of the tour and staying behind on the boat meant that the rest of his offic­ers would get more time off. As hard as they’d all worked, they deserved it.

            Cmdr. Ford delivered the video disc from Capt. Hitchcock’s jet copter to JAG headquarters before taking some time off himself. Scuttlebutt had it that he, Ortiz, and Brody were planning some surfing on the North Shore.

            Nathan spent a frustrating couple of days ar­guing with various military personnel about the red tape required to get a medal approved. The highest honors were only available during times of war. Ironically, if the President of the United States had ordered the captain of the UEO’s flag­ship assassinated in this manner, that would have been an act of war and made scads of medals available to Lt. O’Neill. But, while it was feasible, neither Slate nor Overbeck had intimated anything of the sort and Nathan had no intention of sug­gesting such a thing. However, he found it deeply disturbing that the motive of the perpetrator (whoever it was) was more important than the motives of the hero.

            Then came the cover-up. The Air Force de­clared the crew of the _Fifi_ had never been ordered to do anything except deliver the old plane safely to Tokyo. Slate claimed the UEO passengers cooked up the entire story because of Nathan’s dislike for Overbeck. Col. Black and Maj. Klein were completely innocent and had only been vili­fied in the mess because they were not alive to defend themselves.

            As absurd as that was, the UEO acted even worse. Evidently, having a crooked admiral was more embarrassing than showing the world a brave junior lieutenant who had turned the whole situation around. They ordered everyone on _sea­Quest_ to hold the entire incident in highest secrecy. Once the crash and its aftermath became classified, the UEO refused to consider awarding even a minor, non-wartime medal to O’Neill.

            Although Nathan had half a mind to just let Lucas do as he wished in the matter (the teen had asked several times about the reception and ob­viously had something big in the works), he de­cided he’d better speak to him.

            “I know it’s not right, pal. I wanted to pin the Medal of Valor on him. But my hands are tied.”

            “I could probably find a medal, Captain,” Lu­cas said. “There _is_ a black market, you know.”

            “Great. The navy denies him the honor he de­serves, so we pin a fake on him that he could be prosecuted for possessing. No. The whole point is to have his heroism _recognized_. But that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you. I know you don’t care about the repercussions of defying the UEO’s hush order, but you really need to think about how it might affect Tim.”

            “You think they’d blame _him_ if I went to the press?”

            Nathan sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t put it past the brass to place a reprimand in his record, no. They’d say he knew what you were planning and by not stopping you, he was complicit. They might even go so far as to drum you off _seaQuest;_ claim you’re a security threat. I’d fight it, but you’d better be prepared for me to lose. I don’t think Tim would trade having you here for any kind of kudos or recognition.”

            Lucas sighed. “It’s just so unfair. Everyone bends over backwards to protect that jerk Over­beck, but they won’t even let us celebrate a real hero.”

            “I know, kiddo. I know. We’ll still have the reception and the crew will all know what it’s for, even if we can’t say so publicly.”

            “I’m not just going to quit on him. There’s got to be a way we can honor him without getting him or ourselves in trouble.”

            Nathan chuckled. “Well, if anyone can find a way, I’m putting money on you.” He patted Lucas on the shoulder before he left, wondering if he’d done the right thing to even come.

            The next morning, Nathan found a single sheet of computer printout in his mail slot. At the top of the page, in Lucas’s handwriting, were written the words, _What about this?_ He read it over with growing excitement. “Yes! This is it.” He hurried to his vid-link terminal to make a call.


	57. Chapter 57

Tim was apprehensive about this reception thing. At first, they’d said it was just an intimate little get-together for their last day in Pearl. But then Dr. Smith made a monumental push to get his tooth fixed in time for it and Capt. Bridger informed him he’d need to wear dress whites. No one would say why all the special arrangements, but it was pretty obvious it was more than just an end-of-leave party. The final clue came when Bridger requested an outside UEO officer stationed temporarily on the docked sea-Quest so that everyone could attend the reception.  
It was held at a very posh tropical garden on a remote western shore of Oahu. A peaceful waterfall trickled in the background and numerous tables were filled with a huge array of catered food. A live Hawaiian band played soft island music. Tim was even more suspicious when he discovered that besides him, only the captain wore his dress uniform. Everyone else wore khaki’s. A couple of crew stood at the entrance and presented leis to guests on arrival.  
If he hadn’t figured it out from the disparity in dress, then the presence of Father Baker along with what appeared to be a high-ranking Coast Guard official would have done it. What happened to the intimate little crew send-off?  
“May I have your attention?” Capt. Bridger announced with an official air. He gained silence almost as quickly as he would on the bridge. “Lt. O’Neill, if you’d please step forward.”  
Tim inhaled deeply and made his way through the rest of the crew. They all patted his back and smiled an awful lot. Bridger directed him to stand next to him on a patio that was three steps higher than the rest of the garden. The captain turned to the Coast Guard official and accepted a velvet-covered box.  
“For bravery above and beyond the call of duty, it is my pleasure to award you the Coast Guard Lifesaving Medal.”  
Tim held his breath as Bridger opened the box. A round medal of gold shone in the dazzling Hawaiian sun, hanging from a red and mustard-colored ribbon. Tim stood at attention, infinitely glad he didn’t have to speak because he had no words.  
The captain turned to the gathered crew. “This same medal was earned by our esteemed predecessor and fellow submariner, Chester Nimitz, when he was a lieutenant himself. However, his medal was silver while Lt. O’Neill’s is gold. Some might assume that the difference in grade is because O’Neill saved the life of his commanding officer. Not so. Nor is it because he saved two lives at once or that one was civilian. No. The gold is awarded because of the degree of risk to his own life.  
“While we are all under orders not to publicly discuss the de-tails, it is a matter of record that Lt. O’Neill, Mr. Wolenczak, and I were passengers aboard a B-29 that crashed. I can also attest, without going into detail, that Lt. O’Neill risked his own life and health to save both mine and Mr. Wolenczak’s lives, not just once, but through a succession of selfless acts.”  
Tim’s heart beat loudly in his ears. The captain removed the medal from its box and pinned it to his chest. Capt. Bridger sa-luted first and though he was overwhelmed with emotion, Tim managed to return the salute and then shake hands. The crowd, all his friends, clapped and cheered while he stood there, just praying not to faint from surprise.  
After that, the rest of the reception was a whirlwind of con-gratulations, good food, and laughter. The sun set over the Pacific and the crew quieted just a bit, taking in the beauty. Lucas and Miguel separated from the group and went to work assembling something.  
After a few minutes, it was apparent they were setting up a movie screen. Curiosity piqued, more and more people turned their attention to watch them. Lucas proceeded to set up a small computer and link it to a projector. By the time he was done, he already had everyone’s attention. All he had to do was stand and explain.  
“If circumstances had been different, I could have gone on all the big, popular talk shows where I could have told the world all that Tim did for us and thanked him for it. But, like the rest of you, I’m not allowed to talk about it. So this is what I came up with instead.”  
He clicked some keys and heretofore unseen stereo speakers from every direction blared a rich instrumental score. The picture faded in on the screen showing a series of images perfectly timed with the music. Lyrics followed the instruments and the song told a story of an unsung hero.  
While there were no actual pictures of Tim, Bridger, or Lucas, the computer-generated images looked so much like them that everyone watching could easily tell who was who. Lucas had obviously spent an enormous amount of time making all the effects and cinematography as spectacular as any Hollywood production.  
The story told on screen was not exactly the same as theirs. Wherever possible, Lucas had made the details more generic and ambiguous. The plane was not a B-29, but a much more common Lear. The pilots were faceless and wore clothing that only vaguely resembled uniforms. The violence wasn’t shown on screen, but artfully implied with sounds and shadows.  
It all felt so real that Tim experienced the nightmare all over. Even if Lucas had been allowed to show more, no footage of the actual events existed. The way he had taken all the most signifi-cant elements and woven it into a fiction that would pass the UEO censors was nothing short of brilliant.  
At the climax of the action, when the nameless hero struggled valiantly against the forces of nature and his own limitations, the song reached a dramatic culmination that brought tears to Tim’s eyes. Lucas did all this in my honor.  
The video ended to tumultuous applause. Capt. Bridger patted Lucas on the back, shaking his head in marvel. Tim removed his glasses to wipe his eyes, then stood and approached Lucas. He extended his hand and somehow choked out, “Thanks,” but Lu-cas wasn’t going to accept anything short of a full hug.  
“No, thank you, man,” Lucas whispered as they shared a quick embrace. When they separated, Tim noticed more than a few in the crowd had wet eyes too. That video had touched even those who hadn’t been there, even those who weren’t his closest friends.  
People mumbled softly, sharing what each thought were the best parts when Miguel stood. “Lucas wouldn’t tell you this, but he uploaded this to CyberVid when he finished it last Tuesday. It went viral and is now number two in popularity on the whole In-ternex.”  
Everyone gasped. Tim blinked back his surprise. Finally, someone popped up and asked the obvious question, “What’s number one?”  
Miguel shot an apologetic look at Tim. He shook his head. “Sorry, Tim. I put it up before any of this happened.”  
Lucas cued up CyberVid’s top page and displayed it on the projection screen. Above a standard vid-player box, the title ap-peared in large text: “Catch a Wave, starring Darwin and the Penguins.”


End file.
